The Lady and the Lion
by Marauders Chick
Summary: Because of a panicked bargain by her father, 15 year old Belle is forced to leave her home and her family to live forever in a strange castle. She quickly finds herself amongst a court of lions...at least, that's what they are by day...Chapter 15 up!
1. Prologue

Prologue

Belle stumbled forward, her hair falling in dirty sheets before her eyes. The blood that had been flowing from her hands had finally dried, and she was too crazed with fear to notice that their dull aching had ceased as well. Her eyes searched the skies; _where was he?_ she asked herself. She had been distracted for only a minute- could he really have left her so quickly? She sank to the ground, the fear gripping painfully at her heart.

She wiped her nose with her sleeve unthinkingly, and cursed her eyes for being dry. If she were normal, she told herself, then she would cry. She would have been an elegant sobbing heap on the floor of her castle, not a wild animal in a forest she had never been in. She would have been raising their son, instead of searching the sky for a speck of white that was her son's father. She would be governing her people, instead of having her sister in law, the woman who had hated her for so long, do it.

But she wasn't normal, was she? This forced a grim smile to her dirty lips, a rare thing that she was unused to. Misrak had told her that once; and wasn't that the reason he had said he loved her in the first place? She thought back to it, and felt life surge back to her in realizing that that was what he had said, after all.

As though he had heard her thoughts, the speck of white appeared against the gray sky. Belle laughed with relief, and got achingly to her feet. Pushing the grimy hair from her face, she continued.

_Seven years has almost passed, _she told herself, _and then this will all be over._


	2. Chapter 1: Commencer

Chapter 1: Commencer

As it began, there was a handsome man named Jean. He had dark hair and bottle green eyes, and he had about him the smell of wood chips and shavings. One day, the time came for him to find a wife.

Though he searched, there was only one woman who could ever be the man's wife. She was a beautiful lady named Violette who had honey colored hair and indigo eyes. Other than her beauty, everything about her was a contrast with him. From the pomade in her hair to the russet colored silk of her gown, it was obvious to all who could see that this man and this woman would not be allowed to be together as they were.

Therefore, they changed. The man became a merchant, and made more money. He wore a stitched blouse and velvet trousers now to visit her instead of the simple britches and shirt he had worn before. The lady's scent, instead of one of exotic flowers, became more and more one of baked pastries and breads. She put her hair into simple rolls instead of towering structures, and she no longer paid attention to the advances from other men.

So it was that, whether or not it was to be permitted, the man and the lady were married. Though the marriage was not a grand affair, it did not matter, for never had there been two people more in love. They were content in every way to live simple lives in a cottage in a small village.

It was to this man and woman that a daughter was eventually born. She was like a daughter of the sun, with light hair and bright blue eyes like her that of her mother. Her parents named her Colette, and as the first child, Colette was adored and coddled to the point of being spoilt. So, despite her beautiful appearance, tiny Colette already proved to have a slightly sour attitude and a quick temper.

Not long afterwards, a second child, Sophie, was born. Sophie had jet-black hair and dark green eyes like her father's, and though she was as beautiful as her sister, her parents learned their lesson and as a result she had a shyer, sweeter disposition.

After having these two children, Jean and Violette felt that their small family had reached a very comfortable size. Therefore, it was to their surprise as much as anybody else's when they discovered a third child was to be born.

The third child, however, did not come so smoothly as the rest. It was hard for the lady to bear her- so hard, in fact, that as one life came into the world, another left it.

Thus, Jean had a third daughter, but no wife. It was one of the more cruel ironies that life held for him, and it was a long time before he could subdue his tears and shaking enough to hold his new daughter.

When he finally took her into his arms, it was evident that this child looked very different than her two eldest sisters. Unlike either of them, she had light brown hair, not unlike that of Jean's mother, and, when she opened her eyes, they were blue-green, a mixture of both her mother and fathers' eyes. Though it seemed she would not be as beautiful as her sisters, the man already loved her dearly for being the last thing his precious wife had set eyes on, and he decided a good name for her would be Belle.

This name proved to hold true, at least to Jean, because under his constant care and attention she flourished into a lovely young girl. She did not suffer a lack of feminine grace thanks to the influence of the very feminine Colette, but (and perhaps it was because of Sophie's quiet and placid nature) Belle was never able to learn some of the more valued traits such as holding one's tongue.

Even though his wife had passed away and the man was left to care for his three daughters alone, Jean was still a merchant. His original job before meeting Violette, that of a woodcutter, would not suffice to keep his family fed.

When his daughters were young, he would get his neighbor, Aurelie, to watch over them. Aurelie herself was a young woman with ash blond hair and hazel eyes, who was both unmarried and of marrying age. He knew that, out of courtesy and to spare them both talk of indecency, he should marry her. However, when the thought of marrying someone other than his beloved Violette crossed his mind, he knew that he could never do it.

While Jean was away on his business, as though to make up for not being with them as much as he should have, he asked each daughter what she would like. He did this in a secretive sort of way- he would pull each daughter aside and they would speak in serious, hushed tones. People like Aurelie, who did not know what was going on the first time she saw this, were rather disturbed by the uncanny seriousness in the young girls' eyes. After Jean had spoken with each one of them, Aurelie herself pulled Jean aside.

"Good sir," she said quietly, "with all due respect to you and the young Mademoiselles, what is it that you say to them that could make such children so serious? It is not natural." She looked up at Jean, awaiting an answer with both eagerness and apprehension. He simply chuckled, and the worry lines that had recently settled into his face disappeared.

"Do not worry, my dear." he laughed, "You will find some day, when you have children of your own, that children are naturally very serious, and it is by thinking otherwise that we insult them."

Aurelie did not understand, as at that moment Sophie and Belle had dispensed into tears because Colette had broken the head off of their favorite poupée. She bustled over to try to calm the girls down, and Jean smiled secretively as he slipped out the door.

When he came home, he had three gifts- a new poupée for Colette, a silk ribbon for Sophie, and a vibrant orchid for Belle.

That is how it was every time he left for one of his trips- only, as the girls got older, their requests became harder. Jean came to enjoy their requests. All three were challenges, but Belle's were always the hardest. Foreign cloth, jewels, and mirrors could easily be acquired from the proper merchant. But Belle always asked for a flower. This was not only because she had no interest in the materials that Sophie and Colette did, but also because she was fascinated to hear the tales as to how her father had gotten each gift.

Sophie and Colette, too, were interested in how their father had obtained some of the strange and magnificent flowers he had brought home. In the beginning, Colette had made a big show of jealousy about how acquiring Belle's flowers got more of an effort than her gifts and Sophie's did, but Jean had a very quiet talk with her so that Belle and Sophie couldn't hear it, and she was silent once more.

That is the history that lead up to one year, when the girls were very nearly grown, in which Belle asked her father, in the middle of the winter, to give her a single rose.

Jean, as usual, had not had much trouble knowing at once where to get Colette and Sophie's gifts of jewels and pearls, but he could tell that the wish for a rose would be the hardest task he had been given yet. However, he was certain that he could, and was undaunted. So he kissed each daughter goodbye and rode away.

It was not long before he had sold his wares, and he was quick to get the presents for his eldest daughters- but the rose alluded him. It was winter yet- frost covered everything. At the first home that had allowed him a place to eat and sleep, he made brief mention of it, before realizing how absurd it would sound to those who did not understand his daughter's requests.

"Madame," he had said to the lady of the house, a round woman with a nose reminiscent of a tomato, "Would you know where I could find a rose?"

She smiled at the man, who had obviously been handsome in his youth.

"Surely, you mean in the spring? For I know of the loveliest garden that bears the first blooms-"

"No, no," he interrupted, "I need it before the winter has ended."

"Surely you jest?"

When she realized the true seriousness in this man's request, it seemed as though her shouts of laughter followed him out of the cottage.

Jean was careful through the rest of his travels to only mention the rose in passing. He was, of course, unsuccessful, and thoroughly exhausted besides. He considered waiting until the spring, but knew that that would be thoughtless. Aurelie had recently been married and moved into her husband's home far away, and the girls were old enough that they were home alone. In spite of this, or because of it, Jean was worried for them.

So with a heavy heart he began the journey home, without a gift for Belle.

By chance, a snow storm began to blow one bitterly cold day, forcing his horse to stumble blindly along. Jean had to lead him, though he was barely able to see his own two hands, let alone the path. Hours and days blurred together in this long storm, and they barely managed to trip forward.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. They found themselves stranded somewhere significantly darker and heavily wooded than the path they had been on. They pressed on, and it soon got so dark that it felt as though the black was pressing against his eyeballs. He continued only because he knew it would be impossible to find his way back, and he ignored the protests of his horse.

Soon, lights began to flicker far ahead of them. Jean was sure that it was his imagination, until he reached the first light, which was undoubtedly real. He found that it came from a series of small candles that were embedded into the trees around them. There were several more trees with candles that formed an eerie path. Barely thinking of the strangeness of it all, as he was cold and tired, he followed the path without question. He came unexpectedly to a wrought iron gate. He peeked into what lay past it, and gasped when he looked through.

Lit by light that seemed to have no source was a garden unlike any that he had ever seen. On the right side it looked like any other garden in France during the winter- frozen and bare, covered only in snow. The left side was an entirely different matter. Every flower that Jean had seen or heard of, and some that he hadn't, were blooming forth as fine and lovely as they would on a summer afternoon (even if they weren't summer flowers, they were there). There were honeysuckles and tiger lilies alike, but it was one bush that caught Jean's eye. There, right within his reach, was a rose bush, clustered with huge red roses.

Slowly and hesitantly, Jean looped his arm through the bars and plucked the largest rose that he could see for his Belle. He withdrew and tucked it carefully into his pack, making sure not to crush it. He had just clambered back onto his horse and began to ride back the way he came when, from behind a snow mound, a large brown lion sprung forth, growling fiercely.

Jean's horse went galloping away, bucking his rider off and leaving him helpless on the ground. He cowered before the lion, hoping only for a quick and painless death. But it did not come.

His eyes, which had been squeezed together, opened slowly to see the lion surveying him interestedly. Jean sat staring back at the lion, frightened to even breathe, lest he provoke an attack. The lion finally opened his mouth and, instead of a roar, words came out.

"Tell me the truth," he growled in a gravelly, slightly accented voice, "and you may live. Was it you who has stolen the rose from the garden of my sisters and brothers?"

Jean stared at the lion in horror. He was sure that he must be deathly ill, or at least dreaming. He clutched for the cross that lay dangling at his breast and whispered a prayer.

"Well?" asked the lion, sounding cross and not a little annoyed.

"I-I did not kn-know that it belonged to you- o-or your brothers and sisters." He stuttered, as the lion bared its huge teeth.

"That is no concern of mine." he grunted, "regardless of whose garden you thought it was, you have stolen from me, and the debt must be repaid. However," he continued, "because you have spoken truly, you need not be the one who pays it. Instead, you may give to me whatever meets you first when you reach your home."

Jean said nothing. It would have been a simple request, but that his daughter Belle always came to greet him when he arrived home.

Knowing that the lion was waiting impatiently for his answer, he said only,

"Fine."

The lion nodded. "It is agreed. You may keep the flower for your daughter, and in a month's time you shall send whoever or whatever greets you first. Meanwhile, I shall make sure the journey home for you is an easy one."

The lion disappeared before he could question it further. Shakily, Jean began his journey home on foot. He was deadly afraid that Belle would be the one to greet him.

"Surely she won't be the _first_." he comforted himself, "Surely a cat, or Maurice will be quicker. There is no need to worry."

In spite of this, he was rightly worried. Maurice was their old dog who had arthritic knees, and very few of the cats wandered out during winter. He put this out of his mind, for the time being.


	3. Chapter 2: Arriver

Chapter 2: Arriver

Fifteen year old Belle scrubbed the wooden table and chanced to see the small pot of dried flowers, the flowers her papa always brought from his travels. Putting the rag to the side, she paused to smell the sweet perfume wafting from them. She sighed. She and Sophie were worried, and though she was too stubborn to admit it, Colette was too. Papa's travels had never taken more than a month and yet, here it had been two months and a week and he had not returned. Belle could not help but feel responsible. She knew that looking for flowers always took a good amount of time, and finding a rose in the middle of winter would be nearly impossible.

One time she had told Aurelie about how she and her sisters always waited eagerly to hear the perilous tales of how Papa had gotten the flowers. Instead of being amused and perhaps even jealous as Belle had thought she would be, Aurelie was highly disapproving and even went so far as to cuff her on the ear.

"Foolish girl!" she had cried, "Don't you realize that your papa is getting old? You are pushing him closer and closer to death with such silly whims!"

Belle had not appreciated that, nor the cuff on the ear. She liked Aurelie, but she had always been secretly glad that her father had never married her like some of the ladies in the village had said he should.

Regardless, after that exclamation, Belle had paid closer attention to Papa after he returned from his trip. Of course, he had the occasional wrinkle, but she had concluded that he wasn't as old as all that. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Abandoning cleaning the table, she strode over to the room she shared with her two sisters. Their cottage was not large, so it took only a few of her brisk steps to reach it.

She found Sophie dozing and Colette fixing her hair before the looking glass.

"Belle," said Colette, " thank goodness you're here. Would you be a darling and hold my hair up just like this? No-" she said, as Belle tried to hold it the way Colette had, "Like this- perfect. That's a good girl."

Colette began fastening her hair, and Belle rolled her eyes. Colette, if anything, was an expert at accentuating her natural good looks with the latest fashions she could get her hands on. Not that Belle blamed her- she knew that Colette was nearing an age too old to marry. She was certain that her sister tried to make up for their father's humble money with her exceptional appearance.

"Thank you Belle." Colette said. She got up from her seat and began to rummage through the bureau, searching for an extra petticoat.

Belle, now standing in the direct way of the looking glass, was in view of her own reflection. She examined herself, ignoring what her sister was babbling about the family she had visited earlier that day.

Belle was not what she would consider ugly. She had features that had potential to be beautiful- soft brown hair, blue-green orbs, and a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. However, she was also round, and she did not feel that her plump features could compare to her sisters' delicate willowy frames. Next to them (on the rare occasions they all ventured out together) Belle felt she was invisible.

Belle's thoughts were interrupted by Colette saying in a would-be casual tone, as her sharp eyes glanced out the window, "Oh, Papa is here."

Belle allowed herself a grin and slipped out of the room. Seeing Maurice's pathetic attempts to run out of the front door, she allowed him through first, then bounded after him. She quickly got ahead of him, and laughed as she felt the wind and landscape rush past her. She knew that Colette was probably still sitting at her chair, rolling her eyes at her, but she didn't care. All thoughts of this were put out of her head as her father's face became clear. She leaped into his arms, allowing herself to feel like a very young child once more. She buried her face into the tall man's chest.

"Papa," she said in a voice muffled by his shirt, "you're home! Thank goodness!"

She noted at once that her father was not only unnaturally quiet, but softly shaking. Belle found herself wondering where his horse was. She got a feeling that it would be better if she did not look up, for it became more and more certain that she would not like what she saw there….

"…Papa?" she said again, slowly looking more carefully at him. She was aghast at the sight of tears coursing down his face.

"Papa!" she gasped.

"Do not look at me, Belle." he said gruffly. He ducked his head as though to hide his tears.

"What is it? What has happened?"

He said nothing. Maurice's somewhat labored barks were all that pierced the silence as he reached Belle's feet. She picked up the small brown dog and was shocked when Jean shook his fist at it.

"Curse you, worthless animal!" he shouted, voice thick with tears.

"Stop it!" Belle cried angrily, clutching the now shaking dog. Neither she nor Maurice was used to Jean raising his voice. "He hasn't done anything! What is _wrong_?"

"Go inside."

"What?"

"Get in the house. Now. I'll tell you soon."

"But-"

He struck her across the face. Belle fell to the ground, though the hit was not strong. She, too, began to cry, feeling a childlike sensitivity to her father's forlorn countenance and a tinge of her own fear.

Jean looked down at her and said, in a broken voice, "I am sorry. I am so sorry, ma chere."

Belle got up and walked behind him as he went inside, not looking at him. Instead, she focused her attention on Maurice, who had gotten over his fear and was now squirming to get out of her arms to lick Jean's face.

When they reached the cottage, Sophie and Colette could see at once that it was not to be a joyful reunion, and were wise enough to hold their tongues as Jean gathered them together and told them of all that had happened.

When he had finished, the girls sat in stunned silence. Were it not for their implicit trust in their father and his convincing tears, the older girls would have thought him joking, and Belle did not even question the sincerity of it all, though, for a brief time, she considered the possibility that he might be going mad. After all, many people in the village did say….

But no, she knew it was the truth, and knew that she deserved it. It was all her fault, her and her silly whims for flowers in winter. She had been shocked out of tears, but she felt a heavy weight settle in her chest. She might never see her family again. Thinking of this, she grabbed for her sisters, who were sitting on either side of her. Sophie clutched her hand at once, but Colette shoved it away.

"Surely, we are not actually telling this lion that Belle was the first thing you met," she said, as though any other option would be crazy, "we will simply tell him you were met by some small animal, or even that nobody came to meet you."

Jean seemed to consider this, but Belle shook her head.

"That will not work." she said, "The lion has already shown that he knows when somebody is lying. If Papa goes back saying any of those things, he could be killed!"

Colette bit her lip. She looked at Belle and her father, as though she had just been asked to choose between them. Actually, Belle reflected, in essence, she was.

"Belle," said Jean earnestly, "It is of no matter whether I live or die. I am old; you still have life to live. I will simply tell the lion that I have changed my mind."

"Or," said Sophie, speaking for the first time, "you could just not go."

"No." said Belle, making up her mind, "That will never do. Papa made a promise, and now he must keep it."

"Belle, you can't-"

"I can, and I shall." she retorted sharply, "If I go to the lion, perhaps I could soothe him. And do not protest, Father," she added, for she saw that he was about to do so, "if you go, I will only follow you, and then we will both be at the lion's mercy. If I follow you, it is almost certain that I will die, while there is still a chance of life if I go straight to him."

It was no easy task, but finally she was able to convince Jean to let her go. Still, it was with a heavy heart that he told her how to get to the garden. The next morning, she kissed them all good bye and began the journey on the back of her favorite horse, carrying a bag that held clothes, food, and all the flowers that her father had ever gotten her, including the rose. With some of the stubborn foolishness of youth, she was convinced that she could persuade the lion to let her go. Surely he had a heart, if he let her papa go! At least, that was what she had told herself.

This solid reassurance in her ability was soon stripped away when she reached the forest. When she sat before it, she clutched her horse's mane as cold fear came flooding through her.

"For Papa." she breathed, "For Colette, and Sophie, and-" she hesitated, and then said clearly, "for Mama."

Belle had never mourned not knowing her mother, as she could not imagine what life with a mother was like. But now, as unlikely as it was, she mourned the loss a great deal. As she persuaded the horse, Nicole, to go forward, she had the thought that, perhaps, this was what happened when someone suspected they would die. She shivered involuntarily.

Hours later, tying Nicole to a tree and sitting on the ground where she would sleep, Belle pulled from her bag the flowers her father had given to her. She fingered each one fondly, and remembered the stories that went along with them. She could recite them by heart from the amount of times she had forced Papa to repeat them. Here was the one that he had spent a whole week bargaining for. There was the one that he had gotten from a wandering gypsy. Each one had a different history, and she felt a lump rise in her throat at the thought of it.

"No." she said firmly to herself. "I will not do this." In spite of her words, a tear or two managed to roll down her cheek. She thought to herself about how like the ridiculous maidens in the village she was acting, and how Aurelie would have scolded her. With these thoughts, she forced herself to stop. She decided after a long time of battling her emotions, that she needed to get rid of the flowers in her hands. She could always recall them in her mind, when she wanted them, but they brought her too much pain otherwise.

It was with eyes squeezed tight, therefore, that she threw each one in the small, recently defrosted pond that lay close to where she and Nicole were camped. She stopped when she reached the last one, the rose.

"I will keep this one," she murmured to herself, "for it is the reason I must get rid of all the rest." So she tucked it back into her bag and, after eating some hardening bread, she went to sleep on a patch of ground not covered in half melted snow.

The next morning, Belle woke up and shivered, the morning dew clinging to her and the cloak wrapped around her. She rubbed her eyes and drowsily woke Nicole. The horse ate some ground meal from her hand while she herself had a bruised red apple. Then she clambered onto Nicole's back and continued in the direction her father had told her, away from the path.

Belle kept her eyes trained on Nicole's back, where bead of dew were still drying. Suddenly, a wolf howled, and Belle tightened her grip on the reins that had hung limply from her hands. She encouraged the horse to trot a bit faster and it complied, the hair raising slightly on her chestnut back as she became more alert. Belle rubbed her comfortingly, and did so all the more briskly when they entered the darker woods her father had told her about.

"Shh…" Belle said quietly, "It's alright, good girl…"

A roar punctuated her words of comfort, and Belle let out a scream, not at all expecting it. Nicole whinnied and went on her hind legs, Belle clutching her neck and holding on for her life. The horse went back on all fours and began pounding the ground, farther and farther into the darkness.

"Calm down Nicole!" Belle gasped helplessly. Of course, Nicole was too frightened to even hear her. Even when they reached the lighted path, she veered off it and ran even faster, and Belle knew that she had completely lost calm and control. Out of a cluster of trees, a lion came flying out. It leapt straight for Nicole, and hit her with such force that Belle toppled off. The lion clawed Nicole relentlessly until she fell to the ground, and then bent over to devour her lustily.

Belle trembled violently until the creature looked up from the carcass, as though only just realizing that she was there. Blood dripped from its mouth and it said, quite clearly, "Hello, Girl. Master is waiting for you." The accented voice was distinctly feminine.

Belle curled herself up in a ball and let out a tiny whimper. She was appalled at her own behavior, even as she did it, but she couldn't control herself. She managed, by some semblance of strength that she did not know she possessed at the moment, to say, "You ate my horse." She was shocked to hear how much braver her voice sounded than how she actually felt.

The lioness laughed.

"I am sorry, my child." she said, and she did sound like she was sorry, in a way. "But, you must understand, I saved you. Had your horse continued running, you would have headed straight into a pack of wolves. Both you and your horse would be dead."

Belle felt her blood run cold.

"Besides," the lioness continued, "I cannot fight what nature intended to be the instinct of a lion. But do not worry-" she added, seeing the expression on Belle's face, "my instinct does not go so far as to tell me to eat _you_, for my master told me to escort you to the Chateau, as it is called in France."

"Chateau?" Belle asked, curiosity easing her fear, "But Papa said it was a garden."

"Yes, a garden," said the lioness, using her paw to wipe blood from her face, "but it is the castle garden. Come," she said, rising and heading toward the path, "I will show you."

Belle hesitated, then slowly rose. She smoothed her skirts and, straightening her pack, she cautiously followed the lioness.


	4. Chapter 3: Chateau

Chapter 3: Chateau

The lioness, who purred eventually that her name was Amara, guided Belle to the garden. Belle gasped when she saw it through the gate.

Her father had described to her how it was half summer and half winter, and about the surreal light, but Belle had assumed that it was an exaggeration. Now, she realized that it truly was split down the center.

"How is it possible?" she breathed to Amara, "How is it possible that it is split into two opposite seasons?"

Amara turned to look back at her, her golden features arranged in what looked amazingly like a smirk.

"How is it possible that a lion can speak, Little One?"

Belle felt herself redden. She had not thought how ignorant her question would sound, and realized that from now on she should learn not to be so easily surprised.

The lioness, meanwhile, place a golden brown paw upon the wrought iron gate. It began to shudder, throwing snow in all directions, and with a slight groan it opened. This, too, Belle felt safe to assume, was more of the magic that enshrouded this whole situation.

The path that led through the garden ambled through both halves; some of it was warmed brick, while other parts were still covered in ice and snow. Belle was content to gaze at the garden in silence, as Amara showed no signs of speaking soon. But after awhile, the flowers her eyes landed upon set her heart aching for home, and she had to look away.

Quite suddenly, the landscape changed. Now, instead of wintry terrain on the left and summery plants on the right, there were colorful leaves of red, gold, and orange on the left and green buds and drying slush on the right. Belle could not help but utter a gasp. She looked behind her- the winter and summer were still there.

"This is the garden of four seasons." Amara remarked, "before us, the left side is fall and the right side is spring."

Awestruck, Belle said,

"It is so beautiful!"

Amara grunted, which Belle took to mean that she agreed. Too soon for Belle's liking, she saw a castle looming before them. It was not as large as she had imagined, but it was majestic, as it glowed with that same otherworldly glow that lit the garden around them. It was made with smooth gray stone, and towers rose from it. There were no walls to block out intruders, and it was quite clear that it was not intended to be a fortress.

"That is where you live?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

"Yes."

"And…and that is where your master lives?"

"Yes. His name is Misrak."

Belle wiped her sweating palms on her green skirt.

"Is he…is he the one who threatened my Papa?"

"No. That was Samson. Misrak is his son."

"But I thought that it was your master who sent for me…"

"It was."

"That makes no sense. Wouldn't it be logical that _Samson_ is the one who should send someone out for me?"

"Samson is our king." Amara said shortly, "He has no time for such affairs. He assigns these sort of things to his son."

Belle bristled at calling her situation 'this sort of thing', as though it was common and unimportant.

"What sort of land is he king of, that he should be so consumed in other affairs?"

"The land is his no more. It is far away, and I do not know what you would call it here."

She wondered at that, but said,

"I should think that the king would have more compassion."

Amara stopped and regarded Belle scrutinizingly.

"Your father stole from Samson. Is that not good reason to expect repayment?"

"Not if he didn't know," Belle said heatedly, "and certainly not if he can't even bother to look after his own meals. I hardly think that a rose is worth a life."

"What?" Amara asked. Belle puffed out her cheeks in a most unladylike manner and said, with some annoyance,

"Does your master not intend to devour me?"

Something in Amara's laugh was harsh.

"No," she said, "Misrak would not take your life. Samson either, for that matter."

Belle thought of how the lion had threatened her father and sniffed.

"I would not be so sure."

But after that, she was barely nervous.

It felt like eternity before they reached the golden grilles that barred off the entrance into the castle. This time, instead of putting her paw onto it, the lioness licked the gate delicately.

Instantly, it slid upwards, much smoother than the other gate had been. As soon as they were high enough, Amara padded through. Belle was annoyed, because though they were smooth in rising, the grilles moved rather slowly. By the time the gate was high enough for Belle to go under, she had to run to catch up with Amara.

"You could have ducked under." Amara said simply. Belle scowled, but knew she was right.

Instead of telling her so, Belle looked around her reverently, taking in the awesome structure. Although it was not as imposing from the outside as it could have been, the castle had a high ceiling and was quite large. The floor was made of a marble that was swirled with the colors of honey and cream. There were pillars made of the same marble supporting the ceiling along the far sides of the hall. At the top and bottom was cream colored molding. In the walls were sconces that held torches, which cast pools of light in the areas surrounding them.

Also on the walls there hung several large portraits and tapestries, and most of the paintings were of regal looking men and women. What was curious about the men and women in these paintings was that, rather than having pale white skin, their skin tones were in varying shades of brown. Belle couldn't help a small frown that crept onto her face. She had rarely seen such darkly colored people before.

"Amara," she said finally, "why do the lords and ladies in these pictures have such dark skin? I know that's how they were born," she added quickly, "but I have scarcely seen any other color besides white in the village I live in."

Amara looked at the pictures that Belle had spoken of, and for a moment Belle could see what looked remarkably like a wistful expression on the lioness's face. Quickly, it was gone, and her forehead crinkled with what she took to be concern.

"You do not know of people with brown skin?"

Belle shrugged.

"I have seen it a few times, but only on gypsies and slaves."

"You have slaves?" Amara growled, rounding on her accusingly. Belle backed away as she saw fire in the lioness's eyes and the glint of her sharp teeth.

"N-no." she stammered, "The only one who helped us was our neighbor, Aurelie."

Amara glared at her a moment, then turned away. Though Belle felt relief flood through her once more, she felt a sense of cautiousness. She could not trust anyone in this castle- particularly, a lioness with such a nasty temper. They resumed walking.

"I am sorry." Amara said, after a time, "you did nothing wrong, my child. What was your question, again?"

Much more cautiously, Belle said,

"I have rarely seen one with dark coloring. Why, then, are these people dressed so nobly? Would I not have heard of royals with brown skin?"

Amara shook her head.

"In your country, the royalty is indeed lightly colored. But in a land far from here-" she stopped for a second, and when she started again her voice was filled with longing, "in a land far from here, all the people have skin as dark as those that are in the portraits. It is the white folk that are a rarity, and when they appear, they are feared and hated, for their sole purpose is to enslave them- us."

Belle was shocked. She had no idea they actually went out to capture slaves. She had thought slaves did something to deserve their punishment, and she told Amara so. Amara's response was a bitter laugh.

"That is what they would have you believe. In truth, the slaves' only offense is being born." she said darkly, and Belle did not dare to ask what she meant by 'they'. She did not need to. Whoever would do such a thing…well, she considered it barbaric. 'Almost like these lions are doing to you' something inside of her said. She ignored it.

"Look. It is the Great Hall."

Belle could not help but smile at the sight as they passed the open archway leading to it. It was grand and large, with light (which she correctly assumed was more of the unnatural light that lit the garden) streaming through the large windows. The light was made brighter by how it reflected off the snow. All around the large room ran three tables, one to sit parallel to each of the walls except for the one that the archway was situated in. Though the tables were both wide and long, there was a large amount of space in the center for entertainment or for servants to deliver food to those who were dining.

"Are there many lions who live here?" Belle asked.

"Not really; our court is not so large." she snorted, "however, this hall is convenient, should we ever have guests."

Belle took her tone to mean that there were not many people who visited. It was not hard to see why.

After they continued walking (this time at a faster pace, as though to make up lost time), Belle remembered something.

"You said your master- what was his name?"

"Misrak."

"Yes, yes, Misrak." Belle said, embarrassed at having forgotten, "You said he would not kill me?"

"Yes."

"Then- then- is it possible that he would let me go?" she felt hope rise in her breast as she voiced the possibility.

"I'm afraid not, my child."

Belle's heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.

"But- you said-"

"I said he would not kill you. No more, no less."

"But why would he keep me here?"

Amara let out an exasperated sigh.

"Your father took something of ours." she explained, "and now, he has taken something of your father's. A debt is repaid."

"It was only a rose!" Belle exploded, her face reddening and disappointment seeping in, "And I'm not any form of payment!"

Amara said nothing. They walked in silence, and Belle calmed down, her rage only melting into grief.

"We are here." Amara said finally, stopping at a large wooden door engraved with gold.

"Where?" Belle asked flatly.

"The throne room. You are to see Misrak now."

She opened the door and was at once assaulted by a burst of the colors gold and purple. The throne room itself was nothing more than a room filled with different blankets and comfortable looking pillows in these colors. Among them, she saw upon closer inspection, was sprawled a majestic lion. He was giant- almost twice Amara's size, and several shades darker. He seemed to be sleeping among his gold and purple pillows, but as soon as the door opened, he woke up.

"Come in, girl." he said in a deep voice that had an accent that resembled Amara's. She turned to hold the door open wider for the lioness, only to find that she had vanished. She gulped, and then entered the throne room alone.


	5. Chapter 4: Soeur

Chapter 4: Soeur

Not half an hour later, Belle found herself staring incredulously at the lion before her. She was sitting across from him on the bare ground, and Misrak was, if anything, nothing at all like she would have expected.

For the last half of an hour, the lion had questioned her thoroughly about herself. At first he asked her name and age, then about her family, and then, after he ran out of general questions, he asked her all sorts of other things, such as her favorite color (to which she had tentatively replied 'blue'). Now, he had just asked her,

"What is your favorite flower?"

Belle paused for a second, then said, with conviction,

"Lilies."

Misrak seemed somewhat surprised.

"Really. I would have thought something different. Like…roses."

Belle narrowed her eyes.

"No." she said vehemently, "Roses have thorns and are much more trouble than they are worth. And I think," she added, glancing up at the lounging prince, "that they have proven themselves to cause much pain and misery, especially as of late."

Misrak's eyes met hers, and she knew that her meaning was not lost upon him. He looked away, and Belle could not help feel a little guilty at the wounded look in his eyes. But when he looked back, it was not there. They sat in an awkward silence.

"I do not mean to be rude," she said, knowing that she already had been, "but- do you intend to make me stay here?"

Misrak said, after a long silence,

"It depends whether I decide if you are suitable to eat."

Belle, who had been looking at the interlocking tiles that she sat on, looked up so fast she could have sworn her neck had snapped. Rubbing it, she said in a pitch much higher than she remembered having,

"You can't! You wouldn't! Amara- she-"

She was interrupted by Misrak's roar of laughter, and she felt heat rush to her face when she realized that he had fooled her. Normally, such a thing would not bother her, but she had been scared and upset too much that day. Her patience snapped, and she glared at him.

"Very well," she said boldly, "go ahead." She was tired of being frightened and, against her better judgment, she wanted to see what the lion would do.

Misrak's laughter subsided after a few moments and he wiped the tears from his catlike eyes with a swipe of his huge paw.

"I am sorry, ma chere." he laughed, "but it has been so long…so long since I saw someone new."

Belle bit her tongue to resist the evil words that flew to her mind. Instead, in one fluid movement, she rose to her feet, turned on her heel, and stalked out. She was determined that she would either find Amara (who she felt something akin to friendliness for) or she would simply leave and go home. It was only then that she realized she had left her pack in the throne room. It had all she would need to get home- a cloak, food, and a map.

Besides, she remembered, she no longer had a horse. She winced at the thought.

She had just resolved to go without it when a streak of light brown came running in her direction and knocked her to the ground.

"Oh- I am sorry." said the female, heavily accented voice that came from the creature that pinned her down, "Are you well?"

Belle tried to respond but, as the beast was sprawled over her chest, she could do little more than wheeze and wave her arms helplessly.

"Oh- I am sorry." she repeated, and quickly scuttled off her. When she sat up she saw that the lioness was quite a bit younger than Amara, and smaller too.

"Are you the lady who just came?" she asked eagerly. Then, Belle observed a most curious thing. She winced, and before her eyes she could see the girl chiding herself. It consisted of her hissing in an unintelligible fashion, like one who had been hissed at so much that she just continued doing it to herself long after the actual scolding has ceased.

"Of course you are," the lioness finally said to her, "you must be, because you are a human now. And your skin!" she giggled, "it is so pale!"

Belle couldn't resist smiling.

"What is your name?" she asked the lioness, getting to her feet.

"Bibi." she replied breathlessly, "Oh and yours is?" she added as an afterthought.

"Belle."

She giggled again.

"What a strange name!" a second later, she was scolding herself quietly again. It took another minute before she finished conferring with herself and said, abashedly,

"I am sorry again. France is such a very strange place, I imagine!"

"You imagine? You live here!"

"Yes. But…" she trailed off and eyed one of the sconces on the wall with distaste.

"But?"

"I have never left this castle."

"Never?"

"No."

"That is ridiculous." Belle said angrily, "To keep you inside like that!" for a moment, she found herself feeling like she was talking to a human child.

"It is necessary." Bibi replied, sounding much older. Belle stomped the ground in irritation.

"I do not think so. I shall show you the door right now, and we will take you into the sun-"

"NO!"

Bibi's cry was so unexpected that Belle jumped.

"No." she said again, "I cannot go into the sun, Belle. Never."

"Why-"

"Please do not ask me why." she bowed her head. "I was told not to tell you."

She looked up and resumed her former sunny demeanor, as though nothing strange had been said.

"Misrak sent me to come fetch you back, and to say that he is sorry." she said, as though reciting a speech, "and that he did not wish to insult you."

"It is much too late for all of that." Belle spat, "He and his father have already angered me, for they will not allow me to leave this place."

The young lioness nodded sympathetically.

"I have heard of all of that." she said, "But do not be sad, for Misrak and Samson and everyone shall be kind to you, and you shall be happy here, someday."

Looking into Bibi's eyes, she found herself asking,

"Are you happy here?"

Bibi seemed to seriously consider the question.

"I am not unhappy." she said slowly, "And it is the only home I have ever known."

Perhaps it was the pleading look in her eyes that convinced Belle to follow her back into the throne room. When they returned, Misrak looked significantly relieved to see them.

"You have met Bibi." he remarked. Belle nodded, not saying a word. After giving her one more look, he slid from his pillows and said in a kind voice,

"Come. I will show you the chateau."

Belle replied, in a clipped voice,

"I have already seen it."

Misrak, she could tell, was getting frustrated.

"Then," he said, "I will show you to your bedchamber."

He strode from the room with effortless grace. Belle just looked after him, arms crossed. Soon she felt a nudge at her knee. She looked down and found Bibi looking at her reproachfully.

"What are you waiting for?" she hissed, "You must follow him!"

Belle sniffed.

"What authority does he think he has over me?" she asked haughtily, "Why should I do whatever he wants, when all he does is toy with me?" she surprised herself with her own bold words, but found herself agreeing with them.

"He is the prince."

"He is not _my_ prince."

"But it is _his_ castle. And _he_ did not eat you."

This made her pause.

"Fine. I will go." she muttered, hating to admit defeat. It was made worse by the fact that the look on Bibi's face was altogether too superior. She grabbed her neglected pack and hoisted it onto her shoulder, clutching it tightly to her side.

She skulked out the door, and felt immediately foolish because she had no idea which way Misrak had gone. She decided that she would go right, where it did not seem so dark and menacing.

Alone, she reflected, these halls seemed larger- they loomed more, and the shadows were longer and darker. Belle stayed near to the left wall so she didn't feel that she was wandering aimlessly, and she let her fingers brush the cool marble. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing the silence to calm her rather than alarm her. The only sound was that of her shoes tapping the ground.

She thought deeply about the whole situation, and the odd inhabitants of this place. She found it odd, as well, how they kept pictures of human royalty on the walls when they themselves were lions. Did the lion's court have some connection or agreement with the court of men? Belle nearly laughed. From what she knew of men, it was highly unlikely.

Her fingers caught on a gash in the wall and her eyes snapped open. They widened when she saw that a large marble slab was receding into the wall, leaving an entranceway. Cautiously she approached and looked in.

It was very dark, so it was hard to see beyond a few paces. She reached her hand out to test where the slab had gone, and a torch just inside the chamber sprang to life. Instinctively, she pulled her hand back, then slowly slid the torch out of its bracket. She stepped cautiously into the chamber and then began to step forward. The hall she found herself in was significantly more narrow than the one she had just come from, and more torches sprang to life as she walked past them. She could see from their light that the walls and floor were not of warm marble either. Rather, they were of dark stone that was not even or polished. She did not need to touch them to feel the cold that came from them.

Behind her, Belle heard the slab slide shut once more. More apprehensive, she quickened her step. She nearly tripped when the downwardly sloping floor stopped and abruptly became a flight of steps, still going downward. Belle climbed down them, a hand against the wall for support. There were no more torches to light themselves, and she was left only with the flickering torch that she held. As she went downwards, she could hear noises. Drawing nearer, she could tell that they were voices, the accented voices of all who lived there, and eventually the voices formed words.

"-don't know _why_…"

"I can't believe he's…"

"…name is Belle, of all things!"

Belle froze at the mention of her name. With a more quiet, stealthy stride, she climbed down the remaining steps and listened hard. The voices that were talking, she realized, were all female.

"Amara said she's not the most fetching thing." a voice said, "Pale girl, white like all the people here."

Belle heard more than one cry of disgust.

"And," another voice said, "she dared to speak ill of our royalty. After all that they have done for her!"

The hatred for her was now undeniable.

"Alitash," the voice said, "what do you think?"

"I think," said yet another voice, more deep and rich than all the others, "that I shall be glad when Misrak tires of her. Then we can rip her apart, limb by limb, and be done with it."

Murmurs of agreement echoed off the walls, and Belle backed away in horror.

They stopped hastily.

"What is that smell?" the first voice asked.

"It smells of human!"

"But that is impossible- it is still early."

"Unless…"

Belle heard the ominous sound of shifting, and then one of the voices said, in a mockingly kind tone:

"Come out little girl- we shan't hurt you."

"Yes," said another, "Alitash was not being serious when she said those things…"

Belle bolted up the steps, not caring that her feet pound the floor heavily or that her skirts swished loudly. Behind her, she could hear the sound of nails clicking the floor as a solitary lion pursued her. When she had not run far, the light from her torch, which had been flickering from the cold wind rushing past her, guttered out, leaving her in darkness. She stumbled forward for a moment, then tripped and fell on a step. She could not help a small moan that she let out as she felt her ankle twist beneath her.

The clicking, too, stopped, and Belle prayed that the lion was confused by the sudden darkness or decided to give up.

"Little girl," said the voice of the one called Alitash, "it is dark, is it not? It is a shame, for now you cannot see."

Belle clasped her sweating palms to her knees, which she had drawn up to her chest. She closed her eyes to will the lioness to just _go away_…

"But I can see everything." the voice whispered into her ear, her warm breath stirring the hair that had escaped Belle's bun. The end was imminent, inescapable…

She heard a loud roar from behind her. Though there was no light for her to see by, she turned her neck around to try to make out what was happening. As she did this, she could sense Alitash backing away from her.

"Alitash," said Misrak's voice, "what are you doing?"

"Do not act ignorant, Misrak." Alitash replied in a voice that feigned boredom. Belle could hear how it quivered.

"Get out. Now." Misrak's voice radiated authority, and it was the first time since meeting him that Belle could believe that he was a prince. She heard Alitash retreat, and shuddered when she felt a nose at her ankle.

"It is only twisted." Belle told Misrak, "Just help me get up."

"I am sorry for that." Misrak said, and she knew that he did not mean her ankle. "It is only in their nature as lionesses. They shall get used to you in time."

"You know," she said coolly, "I have heard much of what is intended by nature, but nothing about this castle is natural."

Misrak did not reply.

"Who is Alitash?"

Misrak's answer was filled with both affection and remorse.

"She is my sister."

Now it was Belle who did not speak. She kept a hand on Misrak's back as they finished climbing the steps, and she kept it there as she walked down the lighted hallway.

When they reached the stretch of wall once more, Misrak pounded a bit of the floor that looked like a loose rock with his paw. The rock sunk into the ground, and the wall opened. Misrak stepped through and Belle followed him. She kept her hand buried in his warm fur as they passed several rooms and until they reached a simple wooden door. It had a wooden panel, and on it was encrusted a blue jewel. She removed her hand to reach for the elaborately engraved handle.

"You shall sleep in the blue room." Misrak said. Belle opened the door and felt an irresistible smile creep onto her face.

The walls were painted sky blue, with cream colored crown molding along the top. There were several pieces of dark brown wooden furniture, and there was a giant four poster bed against the right wall. It had gauzy blue hangings around it, which were reflected in the looking glass just opposite it. It was only later when she would realize the only thing that it was missing was a window.

"Thank you." she breathed, feeling a surge of appreciation for the lion. There was no reply, and, looking around, she saw that he was gone. She only felt mildly disappointed, as, at that moment, she felt a giant wave of exhaustion sweep though her. She collapsed on the bed, and she felt more old and tired than she ever had before. Her eyes shut slowly, and the last thing she saw through them was the vase of lilies that stood upon the bedside table.


	6. Chapter 5: Homme

Chapter 5: Homme

Belle was awoken by a soft touch on her face. She shivered slightly, a chill racing up and down her spine. Groggily she pried her eyes open and found herself gazing into smooth brown face.

Slowly, she sat up and found that the face belonged to a handsome brown eyed youth who only looked to be a few years older than she. He wore clothing unlike any that Belle had ever seen- somewhat coarse material, woven with colors of yellow, black and green, making a long cloth that draped over his arms and around his body gracefully. It was vibrant and had a straightforwardness that was lacking in the clothes that she was used to seeing.

For a moment, she was confused, not knowing why he was there. Then she saw the blue hangings around her bed and remembered all that had happened. After all the encounters she had experienced, the sight of this man did not frighten her, and, in fact, pleased her. She had not known how quickly she had come to crave human company.

"Who are you?" She asked.

The young man's smile was kind but mysterious. Instead of answering, he extended one of his long dark hands to her. Unsure of what to do, she put her hand into his, noting how pale hers seemed in comparison. At once, his hand trapped it, and his smile widened. He tugged her arm lightly, pulling her out of bed. She began to stand up, but her ankle instantly shot pain up her leg, and she scowled at it.

As though he already knew what had cause her to hesitate, or perhaps just being especially pensive, the man pushed her back on the bed in a sitting position. He pulled her skirt up unashamedly, exposing all of her leg below the knee. Deftly, he took her shoe off, and Belle had to look away, blushing as he began to run his hands along her ankle and leg. He kneaded the skin gently and moved her ankle around, careful not to hurt her. She cried out when a spark went through her ankle where he massaged it. She pulled her foot away.

"What did you do?" She cried anxiously. She examined her ankle and found that it seemed to be in good condition once more. She flexed it experimentally.

"What did you do?" she asked again, this time in an awed tone. The man said nothing, and instead pulled her foot back. He slipped the shoe on and smoothed her skirt back in place. Belle couldn't help a slight laugh.

"You aren't going to speak to me at all, are you?" she asked. The man stared back, an amused look flickering in his eyes.

"Well could you signal to me?" she asked playfully. The man hesitated, then shrugged. Belle stood up and cast him a glance from the corner of her eye.

"Could you at least tell me why you woke me? I was only just starting to have a lovely dream…"

The man ignored her question completely, and instead took her hand once more. It was warm and firm. He pulled her out of the room and led her fluidly and expertly down the marble passages, eventually bringing her to the Great Hall. Belle had been put out a moment before because he would not answer her, but she promptly forgot it looking at the hall.

It had been grand before- but now it was truly extraordinary. The window that had allowed the artificial light to shine through now showed darkness, and the room was lit by a giant glass chandelier that she had not even known was there. It brought a rosy glow that seemed to light even the corners of the room. Sitting at the tables were many men and women, even some children. They all had dark skin and were dressed in colorful garb like the man standing next to her. They chatted loudly and animatedly, and seemed to observe none of the French protocol. On the floor kneeled several small boys and girls playing a game with some pebbles.

"I did not know there were so many people living here." she breathed. "I do not suppose you would tell me how you and the lions are able to stay in the same castle."

His silence affirmed her statement. She became aware of her hand in his and blushed, but he took no notice, instead pulling her into the hall.

As soon as the people in the room became aware of their presence, they rose from their seats. Even the children on the ground stumbled over one another trying to get off the floor. Belle felt acutely aware at how silence washed over all of them, and shifted from foot to foot as their gazes bore through her. The man at her side was totally unaffected.

He moved forward to a seat near the center of the table directly across from them, and she tried to stay as close as possible. When they reached it, the man snapped his fingers and almost instantly another chair was brought to him by a dark, unusually short man. He said, almost indiscernibly within his heavy accent, "Sit down, my lady." He was about to pull the chair out for her when the taller man shooed him away. He then did it himself. Belle raised an eyebrow, not seeing why he needed a man to _get_ the chair but could not stand letting him pull it out. Nonetheless, she smiled and said thank you, sitting down. The man nodded and sat next to her.

At once, things resumed to the way they had been before they entered the room. The only difference was the voices; they seemed raised louder than was necessary, adding a definite din to the room.

Some boys, all of them about ten or eleven and swathed in dull brown cloth, brought platters of food before them. Belle's stomach grumbled at the sight of the breads, meats, and pies stacked before them. These meals were undoubtedly French; they reminded her of the food Aurelie always attempted to make. At this reminder, she slowly pulled back her hand, which had been poised to take some of it, and swallowed at the lump that she had forgotten was growing in her throat. The man watched her for a moment, then took her plate and, silently, he heaped food upon it. She didn't bother to shoo him away. Rather, she tried to block the other sinking feeling that everybody in the hall was staring at them.

He placed the loaded plate back in its place and she picked at it, her appetite gone. She felt sick watching the man at her other side wolfing down his food. Her eyes began drooping, in spite of the nap she had taken earlier.

She was awoken once more by the man (who she'd begun calling her friend in her mind). He gestured to a slightly frazzled looking woman not far away who was holding a child, indicating that he needed to talk to her. Belle nodded, and he disappeared.

Not a minute had passed when her friend's seat was filled with a very pretty, slim girl who looked similar in age and appearance to him. Her long hair was in small plaits that were then wrapped at a knot near the nape of her neck, and she wore vibrant red robes. She glared fiercely at Belle.

"I do not know what you have done." she said quietly, "I do not know why you are here. But I will tell you that, unlike others in this castle, what I say I mean, during the day _and_ at night."

She checked over her shoulder, making sure the young man had not returned.

"And just so that you might know what I feel- well, I would not mind if you ran away. It can be arranged quite easily."

Belle stared, open mouthed. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"What are you talking-" she began, but the girl had already left, almost knocking the chair over. She regarded the chair absently, wracking her brain for that voice. It had the accent of all the people in the castle…but the only female voices she'd heard had been the lions…and she couldn't-

A squeeze on her shoulder jerked her out of her reverie. She smiled weakly at her friend, who looked rather worn. "Did you solve that woman's problem?"

He nodded, and sank into the chair next to her again.

"I don't see how you could." she mused, "As you don't speak. Unless, of course," she added, giving him a sidelong glance, "it is only me who you do not speak to!"

She meant it jokingly, but his solemn countenance gave him away.

"So it is just me you do not speak to." Belle said, feeling like he'd dealt her a blow. Perhaps it was just petty, or a culmination of all that had happened, but she felt that she was being left out of something.

"I don't understand why you do not- I mean to say-" she made an unintelligible sound and let down her hair, which was coming out of its bun. "I don't understand anything that's going on here. And I am tired. And I want to go home. That is all." Deftly, she tied her hair back up, and then stood.

"You've been very kind." she said, "and I appreciate it. But I really do not know or understand any of this." She felt guilty seeing the bewildered look on his face. "Please tell all the lions- especially Misrak- that I say thank you."

At this, she strode hurriedly from the room, feeling foolish and hotheaded. She really was getting tired of running, but Alitash had said that she wouldn't mind if she-

Alitash.

She stopped abruptly. "Alitash?" she whispered under her breath. That name had come to mind when she thought of the girl who had said those confusing things to her. Belle put a hand to her head. The voice had been Alitash's- that was how she had recognized it! How could it be? The thought of her being human and lion was strange, perhaps the strangest thing of all. But then, it would explain how they could talk…

"Belle." someone said. It was almost a perfect French accent, and she turned around in shock, expecting to see a real Frenchman, one of the white ones that she knew. Instead, she found herself looking at a dark man with a face like leather. He wore shimmering gold robes, and was not unlike the sun in his splendor.

"Please, calm down." he said in a pacifying tone. "I'm sure your anger is understandable, but if we just go to discuss it-"

"No." she interrupted, not knowing who he was and not caring, "No, I am not staying here. I came to save my father, because he promised the first thing he saw to that lion. I came, and now I am leaving. There are secrets here, and I do not want to understand them. I want to go home."

The man's kindly face hardened, though a smile stayed politely fixed on his expression.

"You will discuss this with my son and I." he replied, "Your father gave you to me, not as a visitor, but as a possession. He is still bound, and you are still bound, by his word."

She looked at him calculatingly for a moment, and then said, carefully,

"Are you Samson?"

The man's fixed smile grew wider.

"Indeed. Did my son tell you our secret?"

"It was his sister that gave it away."

"Ah, yes. I did not think he would tell you. My son has always been persuaded by my word."

"You are disgusting."

"Whether that is true or not, you belong to me. I must insist that you come now, or I'll be forced to take it as your father breaking his promise. I have more hold over nature than you might think, and your father is not out of my grasp, whatever you are he might think."

Belle's face heated with anger, but she complied, as she could tell Samson knew she would. When she reentered the hall with him, she could see many of the people had left. Her friend ran up to them and whispered seriously into Samson's ear. Samson waved him off.

"It is alright, Misrak. She knows."

Belle slowly raised her gaze, which had been fixed on the ground, to meet Misrak's, and she could see he looked ashamed. She, however, felt no pity for him.

"I am saddened to know that the one who I thought was a friend only wished to serve his cruel master." she said stiffly. Samson clucked at her.

"You are taking this much too hard, my dear. You have barely known my son a day."

She knew he was right, but refused to say so.

"I will not explain my mind to you, and my father made no promise to reverse that." She looked back at Misrak.

"I will instead address you, however briefly." She said, not letting her imperial tone surprise her as she could see it was surprising him. "I do not feel there is any need to discuss my staying here. I consider myself a prisoner."

"You are making her stay?" Misrak said, "You said that she would be free to choose after she knew about-"

"Do not argue with me. I have changed my mind." Misrak cast his eyes downwards. Belle was appalled. Samson put a hand on her back and shoved her forward, almost making her and his son topple to the ground.

"Take her to her room."

The golden clad figure disappeared.

"You have made him angry." Misrak said. Belle lifted her chin at him.

"I do not care."

"There is no point in wailing about it. You should accept your fate, as we all have. I am only my true form at night, and I do not fight it."

"I did not imagine you were so weak."

He did not say anything. Taking her arm gently, he guided her to her room. When they got there, he kissed her hand and fled.

She walked dully into the room, and observed herself in the looking glass. No wonder people had stared. She was still covered in dirt from her journey to the castle. She scanned the room with her eyes and staggered to reach a washbasin sitting on a small table against the opposite wall. After having scrubbed her face quite thoroughly and dried it with a towel she found in the wardrobe, Belle sank back on the bed.

She soon found that her face was wet once more, and she put her head in her hands, allowing the tears to flow freely.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed! I love you all so much-hugs you- 


	7. Chapter 6: Cour

Chapter 6: Cour

Misrak entered the throne room quietly, and threw himself on the pillows. He sat there, perfectly still for several minutes, and only stirred to remove a long piece of lion hair from his arm. He stared at it in disgust.

"You are truly despicable.." He said quietly, and flicked it away. Though he had addressed the hair, he was actually speaking to himself, the curse, and his father. Much to his surprise, the last one responded.

"I have always thought so." Samson said, gliding into the room, a vision of gold. "However, I am astonished. You have never addressed me as such."

Misrak resisted the urge to run and said, gathering his wits, "Perhaps I ought to have."

Samson laughed.

"This Belle. She is good for you. Already you have such strength!"

"I do not need her. What you are doing is cruel."

Samson perched himself on a gold pillow, carefully out of Misrak's reach.

"Her father bartering her off was cruel, Misrak. She is better off here, where we do not play such tricks."

"We did not tell her the truth about us!"

"No, Misrak. _You_ did not tell her."

Misrak clenched his jaw. It was only at his father's instruction that he had said nothing.

"Why do you fear me, my son? I see you with others, and you are not nearly so meek."

"I do not fear you."

It was a lie, and both of them knew it. Misrak had hated and feared his father for as long as he could remember, and Samson had only asked the question to irk him.

"You lie, Misrak. Must a new heir be found?"

Misrak's self control evaporated.

"Stop these games father! All I asked was that you let her go!" His lion instincts began to take hold, and he found himself baring his teeth and allowing a low growl to escape his throat.

"And I said no." Samson said coolly.

"What is to be gained from all of this?"

"Why Misrak," Samson said mockingly, "I am surprised you should ask. A bit of fun, nothing more, nothing less. Is that not what you always hope to get from your teasing?"

"I have never done anything like this."

"That is your affair. But you shall serve me until the day the crown falls from my head, and I do not intend to make that happen soon."

"And you wonder at how I could resent you…" Misrak muttered, but he reclined on his pillows, waiting for his father to leave.

At that moment, Alitash stormed in, her husband, Nishan, by her side. He was sternly trying to shush her, but she would have none of it.

"How long shall I have to endure her presence?" she snarled, "How much longer until she leaves our home, or you at least allow me access to that _perfectly pale throat_…" These last words she said with bitter mocking.

Misrak glowered at his sister, but did not speak. There was a history there, still fresh to her, and he dared not broach it. Nishan, understanding his dilemma, gave him a thankful look.

Samson was not so kind.

"Alitash, I thought that I had taught you more kindness for your guests."

Her laughter rang throughout the chamber.

"What words you speak!" She screeched, "What words, from this cruel man before me!"

Samson slapped her, and she, not expecting it, fell to the floor. Nishan started toward Samson angrily, but he held up one calm hand.

"Come any closer, and you will be dead in one day's time."

"Nishan, stop." Alitash said through obviously clenched teeth, "Do not lower yourself."

Nishan glanced at Samson with hate, and then helped his wife to her feet. After rubbing her reddening cheek, she continued to speak as though nothing had happened.

"She is no guest to us." She said, "She is an oblivious girl, one of these pale French girls who are so stupid and sheltered that they do not realize how they have trodden upon others for their own means."

Misrak rubbed his eyes.

"We are in France, Alitash. You shall see nothing but pale French girls. They were raised oblivious."

"And you do not know how I wish I could kill them all, as I wish to kill this one."

"Quiet now, Alitash." Nishan whispered, "Do not speak so. It has been three years…"

Her appearance, which only a moment before had been utter calm, flared up into barely suppressed rage.

"Three years! The most lonely three years I have ever felt Nishan! Three years of agony, and of pain! Our son is dead, never to return, and everybody wants me to forget it. Even you now! His father!"

Tears that seemed familiar with her face in their regularity came and poured down.

"None of you…none of you loved him…as I did…do…"

She sobbed into her husband's shoulder, forgetting her anger. Samson stared in disgust.

"Such emotion over such an old cause. And she cries so often."

Misrak turned to him and said angrily,

"Not all people hate their sons as you hate me."

Samson regarded him over his hooked nose, misplaced in the wrinkled softness of his skin.

"Perhaps if they did, there would not be so many weeping fools." He said, unmoved. He cast his daughter one last look, then left as sweepingly as he had come.

Nishan and Misrak looked at each other, and Misrak stood up. He patted Alitash awkwardly and said to her,

"It is time to go."

"How can you stand her? That Belle? How can you be kind to someone of the people who could kill your nephew?"

He smiled softly at her.

"The same way our people accepted mother."

Alitash snorted.

"Considering who our father is, it is not the most wonderful answer, brother."

"That is true." Misrak sighed. Together, the three went back to the Great Hall.

There, all of the people who had disappeared had returned. The air about them was unsatisfied, as it was every night. That unnatural light had begun to filter through the window, and the magic of the imminent transformation began to tug at their insides. Families and lovers were kissing each other goodbye until the next night, and as the royal family reentered, they began to drift out. Many bowed respectfully as they went. During the day, they stayed separated, due to the simplification of their emotions. Women slept in one chamber, children in a nearby one, and each man slept in his own. When they were lions, they might inadvertently hurt or mate with those they might not have approached in their human form.

Misrak kissed his sister and brother-in-law goodbye and stood alone in the hall for a while afterward. He only left for his room when he felt the beginnings of the transformation grab hold.

* * *

Amara shuffled along with the other women to their chamber, feeling old and weary. She felt she could scarcely remember a time when they had not gone through this bitter routine; and yet, if she strained her memory hard enough, she found she could find flashes of it. She sighed as she ushered the rest of the women through the entrance in the wall, and then made sure that the door closed. After what had happened earlier with Belle, she did not want to take any risks when it came to Alitash's volatile behavior.

Amara had known Alitash since the princess had been a baby. After Alitash and Misrak's mother had died, she had watched over them, and had become like a second mother to them. Her status went without saying; she was one of the most elevated people in their court. During the day she was Lion Mother, and at night she was Her Ladyship. Even now, when Samson was perhaps at his most disagreeable age yet, her word held leverage.

When she stepped down to be with the other ladies, she spotted Alitash, sitting huddled in the corner, hair askew and expression dark. Amara made a move to walk toward her but then stopped. She stiffened. Quickly, she stripped out of her dress and jewelry as the rest of them had, putting them carefully out of the way of her lioness form, knowing that the transformation was upon her.

She had barely stored it in a cavity in the stone wall when her muscles began to tighten painfully. In spite of herself, she began to spasm jerkily. She doubled over, muscles, tendons bending and snapping. The babies and young children who had come with their mothers were the first ones to scream and their lusty cries echoed through the room. Soon, their cries were joined with those of their mothers, and all of the women, as their bones twisted and their shapes changed. Teeth knotted and hair came through Amara's skin like needles through paper, and she fell all the way to the ground. The cold rock caressed her burning flesh, and her voice, which had been withheld behind her teeth, broke free and joined all of the others. It was a haunting chorus that spoke of unimaginable agony. The aching finally stopped, and was replaced with waves of pain that washed in and out like the sea. The waves slowed as time passed, and her voice was swallowed back down inside of her. She drew ragged breaths as the last of the pain subsided, leaving her form undeniably one of a lioness.

Amara rose, a new feeling settling, one she felt every morning. It was an unpleasant itch, the itch of newness that came with an unfamiliar (and yet very familiar, in a primal way) body. She regarded the women and young children around her. Their dark brown skins had become the color of butternut, and their shapes were all clean lines. She smiled, her newly sharp teeth brushing against her lips. As she did so, the human mindset slipped from her mind, forgotten, all but her speech.

"Alitash." She rasped, her voice gone into the screams that had barely stopped reverberating off the walls. "Come, Daughter."

A handsome lioness approached her.

"Why were you so-so-" she struggled for the word. When she was a lioness, she felt more inclined to use her native tongue. She resisted. "angry?"

"I shall kill them." the younger lioness replied, "The pale girl, my father- even my brother, if I have to. Nishan is the only one of them I care for, really."

Alitash began to gnaw a bone she found on the ground. Amara knew she imagined it to be the head- or all the heads, for that matter- of one of her victims. She watched her maul it passively.

"Why do you lower yourself to such hatred, dear Daughter? You are above it."

"My Mother," she replied quietly "so long I have thought now that it is impossible to feel. This is all I feel, besides pain. When you live as I have lived and thought as I have thought, you do not find yourself above anything. My mate-" the word husband was foreign to lions "is one who I would never allow to lower himself. But me? It is not of importance what I do or what rules I break."

Amara stared at her, and she could see it was true. She decided not to argue with her.

"I cannot justify nor condemn how you feel. Just know that _I_ think that you are above it. And you must remember…" she hesitated.

"What, Mother?

"It is ignorant to hold all responsible for what that one white man did to Yeshi. Especially because it was not out of spite. He attacked the man."

Alitash's slit-like eyes darted to Amara's face. "You dare speak as though it is Yeshi's fault? How dare you? How dare you!"

"Do not take that tone with me, child." Amara snapped, "Don't presume that you have the authority to speak so familiarly."

"You think my son deserved what he got?"

"I have had enough, Alitash." She sighed again, feeling tiredness overcome her, "You know full well what I meant. Do not argue just for the sake of argument." Amara strode away to find a corner to sleep in, and could feel Alitash's eyes continue to bore into her back. She could ignore it only when she answered sleep's beckons.

* * *

_The sweet scent of gingerbread filled the air._

_It was Christmastime, and Aurelie was preparing the house. Ten year old Belle was brimming with excitement. Papa was expected to come home soon and perhaps-perhaps this year they'd be able to have Christmas as a family!_

_Belle let out a squeal of delight as she heard the door creak open on its rusting hinges. She dropped the sewing she had been doing and flew to the door, ready to jump into her father's arms. She stopped just in time, skidding across the floor. Her heartbeat had frozen, and then increased to twice its normal speed. Standing before her was not her father, but a lion. From his mouth spilled crimson blood, and blood was smeared all over his face. She knew at once that it was her Papa's blood._

_She began screaming, high and horrified, and knew that she could scream forever and ever…_

Belle jolted herself from sleep, and it took her a whole minute to realize that it had all been a dream. Even so, the dream left her shaking. She was naïve, she knew the dream was telling her. She was very foolish to think she could get off talking to lions the way she had that night. She found solace only in knowing her Papa was alive.

"From now on, I shan't speak more than I have to." she said, wanting the words to actually pass her lips. Once her tongue had wrapped around them and her ears had translated them, it would be a hard treaty with herself to break.

She could no longer fall asleep, so she decided to busy herself with the things in the drawers of the wardrobe. She found there dresses, several in what she could remember from Colette's dress sketches as the latest fashions. She smiled ruefully. Colette would not mind being imprisoned here, if it meant access to such dresses. She, however, was hopeless at that sort of thing. So she simply selected a periwinkle gown, modest and not quite so fashionable as some of the more voluminous ones. After she taken off her own simple dress and put this one on, she felt somewhat foolish. It just touched the ground, and was held from her body from rather thick petticoats. The neck swooped down, but not ridiculously so. It had sleeves that ended at her elbows, and from there came some lacy material an inch long. Observing herself in the mirror, she said,

"It is not as though anyone shall see it anyway. It is silly looking."

"On the contrary," a voice came, "I think it quite nice."

Belle whirled around, her cheeks patches of pink at having been discovered talking to herself. Standing in the doorway was Misrak, a lion once more.

"Well-" she hesitated, remembering what she had told herself a few moments before, "Well." she said lamely.

"Witty." Misrak said.

"Why are you here?" She retorted, turning redder.

"Do not complain." He said, a smile playing across his lips. "I am the only company you shall be getting until tonight, when we dine."

"I shall not have any more company tonight. I am staying here."

"No you are not."

Belle quirked a smile, and ventured to say, polite though she felt anything but,

"It is amusing how much more authoritive you are when your father is not about."

Misrak stared up at her with no emotion on his face. She bit her lip, knowing she had gone too far. They both stood in silence.

"Would you like to hear about the curse over us, Belle?" He asked suddenly. Seeing her stare, he continued, "I mean, of course, how it came about."

Belle was surprised, and not a little curious at this change of subject. She wanted to ask about it, but her curiosity over the story overpowered her other questions.

"…Yes." she said finally

She sat upon the bed, and Misrak sat at her feet. Once they were both in comfortable positions, he began his tale.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you again to those lovely people who reviewed! (I ought to leave a note like that after every chapter, I think. I just need to think of ways to say it so I'm not saying the same thing at the end of every chapter) I probably shouldn't be saying this, as it might sound a bit pathetic, but it's amazing how just a few words can make my day! 


	8. Chapter 7: Histoire

Chapter 7: Histoire

"We have not always been a cursed people." Misrak said, "There was a time, about twenty years ago, when life was quite different for us. I do not mean me," he added hastily, "just- for the group of- I mean-I do not know exactly how to say-"

"Yes," Belle said quickly, "I understand."

Misrak nodded.

"We lived in a land far away from here. A land filled with desert and sun, where the rare patch of grass is always dry. Twenty five years ago, my father became the king, and because of tradition, he was expected to take a queen.

"About the same time, by some mystery, a small group of foreign people entered our land. Then, my father was not so cold as he is now; he accepted them as a gracious king. They were stranger than any of the groups from foreign tribes my people had ever seen. Their skins were pale and they wore clothes that were frivolous and unnecessary. Such is the fashion still, in their land, France. Some of them could make it in our climate, and some could not.

"Among the people who had come, one woman in particular who stood out for my father was a woman named Marie. She seemed untouched by the land he was used to, her light skin and yellow hair intriguing, and he wished to find out more about her. Because he did not understand the language she spoke, the people of her group taught him. As he learned, he fell in love with her and announced that he would marry her. Though she did not know him well, she consented, thinking him to be kind.

"After their marriage, Father declared that our people would only speak French. As the other Frenchmen had either died or left, my parents were the only people there to teach. Though my people thought it unnecessary, the threat of death was placed upon them, showing my father's true nature.

"This foreign woman soon bore to my father my sister, Alitash. My mother was glad, but my father was angered by her dark skin and hair. He did not understand how her features were not like those of her mother. I think, by this time, Father envied those features.

"Then she bore me, another child with dark features. He was infuriated, frightening my mother with his unparalleled rage. An argument ensued in which, by some mistake which I have never heard the details of, Father found out the reason that my mother was exiled. She was a witch."

Belle gasped.

"A witch?"

Misrak glanced at her sharply.

"She did nothing to hurt anyone."

Belle pursed her lips and said nothing more. Misrak regarded her warily.

"Would you like me to continue?"

"…A witch?"

"Do not tell me you harbor a prejudice against those who do magic."

"It is…it is not natural."

Misrak laughed.

"I am surprised that you sound so similar to all of those people who you complained talk too often of nature."

Belle wrung her hands.

"I just- I cannot-"

"You contradict yourself, Belle."

She looked at him hard for a long moment. Then she let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

"Continue."

Misrak grinned.

"Are you sure?"

Belle glared.

"That, or you can leave my room."

"The one that I gave you. Would you prefer that I give you the room my father suggested?"

"I do not even want to know which room that was. I am sorry. Please continue."

His grin remained as he continued to tell the story.

"When he found that out, my father reacted in the same way as you did." The smile faded from his face. "Though in our land we had often seen magic in the past, my father was what would be called a…" he concentrated for a minute, "a fanatic. He ordered that my mother be killed, all love for her forgotten."

Belle gasped.

"But she was his wife!"

"Not in his mind. The way he thought, it was as though she became unfaithful when she bore him children with the features he hated. So the next day, my mother was killed. I was five days old."

Belle touched his arm softly.

"I am- I am sorry."

"It is worse for Alitash. She was four, and she can remember seeing them club her to death."

Belle made sure to look at anything but him.

"What does this have to do with a curse?" she asked, looking determinedly at a bit of dust on her sleeve.

"I was almost there. When my mother was to be killed, seeing the heartlessness of those who would execute her, she grew angry. As many witches tend to do, she exacted revenge. She cast a spell upon the whole tribe- that we would be in a form in which none would accept us, not our land or our people. She said that only at night would we have that satisfaction of knowing what we might have been."

"That is horrible."

"What they did was horrible."

"She did it to her children too!"

"If we did not experience it, then others would think us abnormal. They might kill us as they did her."

Belle thought about this.

"Is it permanent?"

"She gave no indication. But her curse did come true- The sun, that which is prevalent throughout our homeland, may not touch our bodies, or we take a new form, one in which we never see our loved ones again. I know," he continued, seeing how Belle opened her mouth, "because I have heard tales. I have seen it. And the people of the other tribes, they rejected us as my mother said they would. So we were forced into hiding, into the darkest caves that we could venture to find. Even then, for some reason, Father wished us to continue speaking French. We were left to teach ourselves, which is why we all have rather horrible accents

"A few years ago, when I was barely grown, a man came to us from that group that my mother had traveled in. He was her brother, and though he was saddened to hear of his sister's murder, he took pity upon us. He told us of a place in his far off land of France where he thought we might stay. A place where the sun would not touch us and nobody would see us. That is how we came to be at the Chateau."

Belle let out an exclamation of understanding as a realization dawned on her.

"That is why you have no real light here!"

Misrak's smile returned.

"Yes. Her brother, my uncle, cast a spell on this place for the light to function as it does."

"Where does it come from?"

"That I do not know. He made this castle for us as simple as possible with his magic, and though I often try I do not understand it. What is most amazing to me is how he could forgive our people after all that they did to his sister. It is a virtue, forgiveness. One that Alitash has yet to learn."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed.

"We came to this place three years ago. At that time, Alitash and her husband had a son, Yeshi. He was still young and foolish, and one of the days we were resting in the dark before resuming our journey that night, he broke away from the group. In the dark of the wood we hid in, he found a white hunter. He thought it good sport to attack him, but the hunter drew his rifle and killed him. Alitash saw him do it, but she was powerless to help him. Since then, her hatred for those with pale skin has been part of her."

Belle made a sound that was a mixture of both pity and annoyance.

"Does she not realize that what she is doing is what your father did to your mother?"

Misrak shook his head sadly.

"She does not seem to think much of anything other than hatred. That is why she hates you."

Belle didn't know what to say.

"How can I compete with a hatred that does not even have anything to do with me?" She asked finally. "It is not fair!"

Misrak got up to leave.

"There is no more to the story." he said, "I shall go now."

"Why?" Her tone was reluctant, and she cursed herself as she saw that he realized this.

"Already you grow so attached?"

"No." Belle said harshly. She winced at her voice.

"You do not understand." Misrak said. "I shall soon transform back into a man. You do not want to see."

"Why?" she asked again.

"Because- ah." He smiled. "Look."

Belle let out a squeal as a cart came whizzing into the room, pushed by no one. Until the last second, it looked like it was going to hit them and then it stopped, seeming to sense their presence. Belle inched slowly towards it, peering at what was resting on the top.

There was a silver tea tray upon which was a patterned china tea set. From the patterned teapot a thin wisp of smoke curled lazily upward, and on a plate there were stacked tarts with different colored fillings. At the sight of it, her stomach growled.

"Take some." Misrak laughed. She hesitated, and then complied. She let out a contented sigh as the taste of blueberry filled her mouth, and she remembered that she had not eaten at supper the night before. She ate another tart, this one cherry, and then felt thirsty. She took tea leaves from a small bowl and put them in a cup, then poured the water from the teapot.

As she did so, the teapot let out a high pitched toot, and though it made her jump, she could tell that it was thanking her for relieving it. She put it back down and giggled nervously. After she added a sugar cube to the tea and stirred it, she asked,

"How does it work, Misrak?"

"Give me a tart." was all Misrak said.

"Ugh." Belle said, wrinkling her nose at his rudeness. She picked up a tart with a suspicious looking yellow filling and tossed it into his waiting mouth.

His face puckered.

"Disgusting. I don't know why he insists on making them."

"Who?"

"The cook, Safiya."

Belle picked up the teapot again. When she tried to look at its underbelly, it jumped out of her hands and back onto the tray. On its own, the cart propelled itself backwards to where she couldn't reach it. She laughed again. It reminded her of a small, frightened animal. The sound of her laughter made the cart slowly creep back, ready to dart away again.

"It is strange," Belle commented, "but I almost feel as though I should be petting it."

"You should." He replied, "It will hold still if you do."

She petted the teapot hesitantly.

"I feel so silly." she murmured. But it worked, and in a moment, she had it grasped in her hands once more.

"Clamp down the top."

Belle saw at once what he meant. The top of the teapot had silver clamps that could easily be closed by looping silver rings around flaps and then closing the flaps.

"Now," he said after she closed it, cocking his head to search the underside, "Do you have something to put in the spout?"

"Er- Yes." she said, spotting a tea towel. She carefully stuffed it into the spout, and as she did so, it began to wriggle in her hands.

"Misrak?" she asked uncertainly. Misrak reached out his paw and probed something on the bottom with a sharp claw. The teapot froze at once, and he straightened.

"Alright," he said, "now you can turn it over."

She flipped it over and felt her mouth drop open. There were minute jewels and a thin metal wire connecting them in a precise order. There were several grooves in the actual teapot, one in which Belle guessed that Misrak had stuck his claw.

"It's run by magic," Misrak remarked, "just like many other things in this castle." He nodded his head toward the jewels.

"But I've found that even magic has mechanics."

"So…What is the point of giving a teapot life?"

"Efficiency, I think." He replied. "I'm not quite sure- it was here when we arrived. But I think it also came from the belief that even housekeeping things deserve life."

"It's wonderful." she breathed. " Look at it! It is so intricate.."

"And to think you thought magic unnatural."

"If all things unnatural are so wonderful, then I am surely spellbound and do not mind it."

She heard Misrak's breath catch in his throat. She looked up at him, and saw that he was hunched over, his limbs contorting in odd angles. He jerked helplessly, screaming, and his body slowly mutated into one of a human. She brought a hand to her mouth and watched, horrified. As he quieted and began to lay still, Belle quickly looked away and covered her eyes. She felt her cheeks reddening.

"Oh dear…just let me-well, I mean- I can't you know, I might step on you-"she found herself babbling, "and- well- Misrak- could you not just-"

"Mmm?" he moaned weakly.

"Could you put something on?"

"What?"

"You don't- you haven't got any-" She couldn't bring herself to say it, so she waved the teapot at him vaguely. She could hear him laughing as he realized what she was talking about.

"It is not funny." she said, feeling quite perplexed, "I do not want to see- just-"

"What would you have me put on?" Misrak asked, sounding much more awake then he had a moment before, "a dress?"

"Anything!" she cried, "Put on a dress, tie something around you, just cover yourself!"

After a minute, Misrak's laughter subsided enough for him to say,

"Alright, I've covered myself."

Belle peeked through her fingers and saw that he had sloppily tied a nightgown around his waist. She assumed it had come from one of the drawers in the wardrobe. Though it was messily done, he seemed quite proud of his handiwork, and Belle certainly wasn't going to offer to fix it. She put the teapot back down on the cart and it zoomed off, so fast that it almost seemed glad to get away.

"I just want you to know, Misrak," she said gravely, "I do not ever want that back."

"I was not planning on giving it back anyway."

She gave him a wary look, and they both found themselves laughing. Belle decided then that she could no longer be angry at him, and was glad to have an ally once more.

Misrak's smile froze suddenly. He slowly turned around, and Belle followed his gaze.

There, standing in the door, was Alitash, looking murderous.

* * *

Thank you so much for your reviews, my darling readers! Thank you for expressing your interest and telling me what you like about the story (and even requesting that I not leave the chapter at a cliffhanger, to which I can only say haha, I cannot resist!). And now, I have a request for you:

One of my dreams, like a lot of people on is to someday be on a publishable level. I know that that day has not yet come, and that I have much work still to do, but what I really need is some feedback that I can use to improve. Tell me what you think I should add or take out, what parts make the story good or bad. Constructive criticism and practice are the only ways to get better!


	9. Chapter 8: Famille

Chapter 8: Famille

"Here you are, Mademoiselle."

Money passed between the vendor and buyer, and the groceries were handed over as well. Colette touched a hand to her stacked hair and smiled charmingly.

"Thank you, Monsieur." she said politely to the vendor, "And please say hello to your wife for me."

He reddened at the sight of the beautiful young woman smiling up at him. By the time he was able to form a response, she had slipped away.

Colette loved going to the market. It was a perfect place to obtain and show off the newest fashions, not to mention impress the many men who did not bother to hide their admiration. She thrived on the attention that she knew Sophie, just as beautiful as she (in a quieter way), so resented. Sophie would rather be home sleeping or reading, and Belle…

Her breath caught as she thought of Belle. Though her sister had barely left two weeks before, her absence could be felt tangibly in their house. Their father had withdrawn into himself, hardly speaking or eating, and Colette could tell from the candles disappearing at a rapid rate that he wasn't sleeping either. His silence and Sophie's meekness were fast driving her mad. It was partially for this reason that she had volunteered to go to the market. Another moment in that house and she knew she would scream. She looked down at the sprigged gown whirling around her slim frame and smiled. She really _did_ look lovely.

"We meet again, Colette."

Colette groaned inwardly at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Monsieur Rachet." she acknowledged. Rachet was the only man who's attention she absolutely despised. He was rich and handsome, with blond locks and cold gray eyes. He was also arrogant, and even more vain than she was. She stiffened as his arm snaked around her waist

"Call me Pierre, Colette. I do not insult you with such a formal title."

"And yet you should, as my rank is as high as yours. My mother was of the house of Chalbert."

"Tut, Colette." Rachet clucked, tightening his hold on her, "Only half of your family has claim to prestige."

"It is nothing to laugh at. Half, and you treat me as you would any lowborn serving maid."

"Your mother gave up any right to call herself a lady when she married a man who's life's work was originally nothing more than a carpenter."

"You insult my father!"

"Only if you take it as such." Pierre's mouth was at her ear and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She wrinkled her nose and squirmed out of his grip. Turning to face him, she wore a false smile as she slowly and discreetly backed away.

"In spite of this, you would attempt to woo me, Monsieur?"

"Indeed I would, Mademoiselle. Your beauty, no matter your rank, is second to none." He snatched her hand and caged it in his.

"What do you want with me, Rachet?" She snapped, taking her hand back. She could see another potential suitor from a distance, one she had been taken with, backing away, and it made her feel rather put out.

"Marry me, Colette." said Rachet. It was an offer that had been made before, and she rolled her eyes.

"If you wish for my hand, ask my father." Colette was relieved for this excuse. Unlike most fathers, Jean allowed his daughters say in who they would marry, and he had sent many a man scurrying away. Colette only hoped Jean could pull himself together enough to put this scoundrel in his place if needed.

"Why should I speak to a simple, addled merchant when it is truly your temple to govern?"

Colette danced out of his reach. "Then, the priestess of this temple will respond in the way she has before, with a strong and hopefully unmistakable no." She fought the frown that struggled to come to her face at the reference to her father as "addled".

For the first time, Rachet started to look serious, and his handsome face clouded with impatience.

"Come now, Moreau." he said, calling her by her last name.

"You insult me further."

"You will be mine, no matter what you say."

Colette fled quickly until she was well away from Rachet and within view of her own house. She took a few calming breaths. She wished she could kill Rachet, because it was the only way she could think of to wipe the superior smirk off his face.

"Unless of course," she said under her breath, "it is stuck that way, and I would not be at all surprised if it were true."

When she reached the house, she heard a whining at the door. Opening it, Maurice bounded out. He jumped on his hind legs, pressing his forepaws to her dress and staring up at her expectantly. She gave him a quick scratch between the ears and then continued in, knowing he wouldn't stray far from the house.

Stepping in, she knew at once something was wrong. The house was quiet, with an occasional dull thumping sound coming from her father's room. She put down the groceries and went to see what had happened. When she opened the door to his room, she found Jean halfway propped up on his bed, slowly banging his head against the wall. He looked up as Colette came in, and smiled. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had a large flagon in his hand.

"Oh no, Papa." she sighed, "What have you done?"

"I'm- I'm sorry, Belle." he slurred, "I- I couldn't find-find-"

"I'm not Belle." said Colette, feeling a little upset, "It's me, Colette."

Jean squinted up at her.

"Oh." said Jean disappointedly, "Why are you here? Where's Belle?"

"Belle's gone, Papa."

"Ah." said Jean, nodding clumsily, "tell her to stop reading and come here. I need to tell her something."

Colette went to him and gently removed the flagon from his hand.

"You can tell me, Papa." she said, playing along with his drunkenness, "I shall tell her for you."

"Tell her- Tell her-" at his abrupt silence, Colette looked up from where she was taking off his shoes. He had begun to sob quietly into his hands.

"Yes, Papa?" She urged,

"She was most like my Letty." he said, "Now I've lost them both, Belle and Violette, and I'm alone, alone…"

"It is alright Papa," Colette said, putting a blanket on him, "you still have Sophie and me."

Jean shook his head violently.

"Why don't you go?" he asked, "Go marry that Rachet fellow, he has money and seems very nice, very nice. Nice fellow, that Rachet."

"What about you and Sophie, Papa?"

"I shan't do it again, Colette. " he said loudly, "Shan't go on these trips any more to buy you things. Marry Rachet. He can buy you pretty things, pretty like….pretty…..Yes, that's what you like isn't it? Go marry…marry….what is his name? Marry him…"

Jean fell to the bed and was instantly in a deep sleep. Colette looked at him, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Damn you, Belle." she whispered, "Damn you for leaving us."

She wiped the unwilling tears from her eyes. Flagon still in hand, she went to her own bedroom, where Sophie was whispering over prayer beads.

"What happened to Papa? Why didn't you do anything?" Colette thundered. Sophie looked up at her meekly.

"He went to the pub, and I tried to stop him, but he's… you know, he's been so…I think he was drinking with someone named Rachet."

"Rachet, Rachet, damn him too!" Colette yelled angrily. "No wonder he called Papa addled- why would Papa go within ten feet of that horrid rat?"

"Please, Colette." Sophie whispered, "I'm frightened. Papa is frightening me. And I miss Belle."

"Saint Belle, Papa's favorite." Colette jeered acidly, "If she is so wonderful, where is she? Where is she now, as we suffer through this?"

"Most likely dead." Sophie barely whispered.

Colette sighed.

"I do not want to marry Rachet, Sophie, no matter what our father says in his bouts of drunkenness."

"We need a man, Colette. Somebody to take care of us. Papa cannot do it anymore."

Colette was surprised by the resolve and calm in her sister's voice. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she was right.

"You really think it necessary?" she asked weakly, knowing already what her answer would be.

"Yes." Sophie replied firmly.

"But-" Colette grasped for any reason she could think of not to do it. Finally she said,

"But I hate him! I shall never love him."

"I am sure that Belle did not want to go alone to live with lions."

"Belle, Belle, always Belle."

"You would not have gone."

Colette let out the breath she had unconsciously held in. She glanced at the flagon she held.

"I might as well have some help." she said. She downed whatever was left in it, and blinked at the bitter taste. It scalded her insides as it ran down. Ignoring how Sophie gaped, she strode out of the room, slammed the flagon down on the table beside the groceries, and went out to seek Rachet.

"Pierre." she said quietly, "His name is Pierre."

She knew already that this was a marriage made in hell.

* * *

"Alitash," Misrak said finally, "What are you doing here?"

Barely moving, she asked through her teeth,

"What has happened here, Brother?"

Misrak looked down at the nightgown tied around his waist and laughed nervously.

"It- it is not what it-"

"looks like?" Alitash finished in a dangerously quiet voice, "I am sure. Indeed, I am sure it was very innocent. I dare say that you were probably just caught at the wrong moment."

"You are correct."

Belle looked between the two and was surprised to find Misrak looking quite nervous. She had always thought that he was the more authoritive of the two siblings. Now, however, she doubted her own judgment. Misrak's and Alitash's gazes were locked, and from Misrak's nervous and rigid position, she guessed that Alitash was winning whatever silent battle they were having.

Belle shifted slightly, and at once Alitash's stare was focused on her. In the same instant, Misrak's hand was on her shoulder. She looked up at him and could see that he had been nervous not for himself, but for her.

"Do not say a word." he whispered to her under her breath. Alitash saw this, and a smile formed on her lips.

"Shush, dear brother." she cooed, "No such warnings are needed between the girl and myself."

In one fluid motion, Alitash moved from the door to the bed. Standing over Belle, she calmly brushed a strand of hair from the younger girl's face. Belle shivered as a tingling sensation went through her. Her heart beat wildly in fear as Alitash bent down to put her face on level with hers.

"Belle knows how I feel about her, and I can see in her eyes how she feels about me." Belle knew that her eyes were filled with fear. Alitash smiled coldly at her.

"Come now, girl," she coaxed, "tell my brother how I have told you what I think of you."

"A-Alitash, I-"

Alitash brought her thin fingers to either side of Belle's face and grabbed her, effectively shushing her.

"I did not tell you to address me." Alitash hissed venomously, "How dare you take such liberties? And I never want my name to pass those insolent lips again. I am always to be addressed as 'your highness'. Now, tell my brother." She jerked her hand, forcing Belle to face Misrak.

Belle felt a surge of hopelessness as she looked at him, and any expectation she had of him saving her went out of her body. He seemed paralyzed, and his makeshift garb made him look ridiculous, especially compared to Alitash. Her vibrant clothes made her look menacing and even more in control.

"I-I know how she feels."

Alitash snapped Belle's face back to look at her, and she got the vague impression that she was trying to break her neck.

"Then why did you not do as I said?"

Belle did not reply.

"Alitash, please-"

"Quiet, Misrak." Alitash growled. She shoved his hand from Belle's shoulder.

Alitash then grasped Belle's shoulders, her hands cold and steely in comparison with Misrak's warm hand, and shook her. Closing her eyes against the pain, Belle opened her mouth.

"Because-"

"No, stop." Alitash said, her voice going from mockingly playful to serious. "I am tired of having to look at you. I have had enough."

The next moment, Belle found herself on the floor, Alitash's steely hands clasped around her neck.

Gasping for air in vain, she could vaguely heard Misrak shouting. She kicked and beat her arms wildly, exerting the force of one who knows they are in a life or death struggle, but Alitash's hands were unwavering and their intention obvious.

She soon lacked the energy to move, and as the oxygen stopped going to her brain and spots formed before her eyes, she could tell that death stood over as a spectator. It was then that the inky darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

As always, thank you! Thank you for reading, thank you so much all of you who have reviewed (and those of you who plan on doing so, lol!). Just like last chapter, I'd like to hear any questions or constructive criticism. I really want this story to improve! And in response to questions and such-

Sheyana: Haha, the next chapter is up, so I'm expecting your constructive criticism!

MoonPixie86: The only way I can think to explain it is that 1. The closer it is until they transform back into human form, the more human they are, and 2. Different personalities handle it differently. As you can probably see, because of Alitash's personality, she is very savage when she's a lionwhereas Misrak is pretty much the same. Does that make any sense? If you see some inconsistencies, or think that it doesn't quite make sense (I'm hoping it does, as I only noticed when you pointed it out) just let me know!

Phillippa of the Phoenix: What's wierd is that I had always pictured Samson as the evil one, but now that you mention it, Alitash does seem pretty evil, huh? Hm. Just goes to show sometimes characters have a mind of their own...But I won't say that she's purely evil!


	10. Chapter 9: Souhaits

Chapter 9: Souhaits

Belle stirred, and as she did so, she felt a warm hand press her shoulder.

"Wake up, now. Goodness, how much can a girl sleep?"

The voice was feminine and familiar. She cracked an eye open and found a dark, plump woman watching her impatiently.

"Amara?"

Amara smiled in satisfaction.

"There." she said, "There is nothing wrong with you. That fool boy would do well to listen to me…"

"What happened?" Belle asked, feeling disoriented and confused. "Alitash- Alitash attacked me…and I was- I was dead, I thought."

Amara clucked her tongue.

"Do not be ridiculous." she said, "You are fine."

"But where is Alitash?" Belle asked worriedly. "And Misrak, where is he?" She sat up and took notice of her surroundings; they were darker and colder than her room, more reminiscent of the day chambers that the female lions had. The bed she was on was hard, and the blanket over her, thin.

"They are tending their own affairs." Amara replied, adding kindling to a crude fireplace in the gray stone wall. "They cannot spend all of their day taking care of you, whether you are a prisoner of this place or not."

"I- I just expected…"

" That Misrak would tend you?" Amara finished amusedly.

"No!" Belle cried, blushing darkly.

"Well then, what did you expect?" She perched herself on the edge of the bed, as though genuinely interested.

Belle, if anything, turned darker.

"I just…" she mumbled, feeling foolish, "thought that he might show the briefest concern…and I thought that she would come back and try to kill me. I didn't think she would be willing to let me go." she began lacing her fingers together and unlacing them to distract her from looking at Amara.

The woman gently put two hands on either side of her face, making her look at her. Belle was trapped by her intense yellow stare.

"He is concerned; take of that what you will. And she would indeed have killed you- and yet, I think she feels some remorse. Another thing which you will have to decide its meaning."

"Her remorse would have been for nothing if I was dead. Unless she feels remorse that I am _not_ dead." Belle heard the bitterness in her voice and didn't bother to hide it.

"Shush." Amara said, slapping her cheek lightly. "You were seducing her brother."

"What!" Belle shouted, sitting straight up. "No I was not! Ask Misrak! He knows-"

"I know, my child, I know." Amara said, taking her hands from Belle's face, "But it was how it appeared."

"And for that, she would have killed me?"

At this, Amara frowned slightly.

"It is unlike her." she said, "Though she is passionate and angers quickly, her actions are cool and deliberate. It is indeed strange."

After a long silence, Belle asked, hesitatingly,

"Where am I?"

"You are in a prison chamber." Amara replied, "It was nearer than your chamber was."

Some movement was heard outside the door, and Amara stood. Opening the door revealed Misrak, and Belle felt embarrassed at being caught in bed. With a struggle, she managed to escape from the thin sheet that had somehow entangled her legs and began making the bed.

"I told you," Amara said, "she is fine."

"Thank you." he said, talking to Amara, but staring at Belle, "You were right."

Amara left, and after she did, Belle stared up at Misrak.

"How is Alitash?" she asked, her voice sounding stiff even in her own ears.

"I am sorry that she did that." he sighed, "I wish I could-"

"_I_ wish," she interrupted, "That I could leave. I wish only for peace."

"I promise you, she will no longer bother you." Misrak said quickly, "If I must stay with you always, she will not-"

"You should not have to watch me!" she exploded hotly, "I should not have to be here."

"Can you make no attempt to like it here?"

"How can I, when your sister is so firmly set upon my demise? Though Amara says otherwise, I know the truth, and I admit that it frightens me."

Misrak looked at her mournfully, and she looked away, regretting her behavior. He touched a hand to her shoulder.

"I wish only that you could be happy." he sighed. She looked up at him in surprise.

"There's many things we wish, I think." he continued, "It is a shame that not all of our wishes can be granted."

Belle studied him, seeing his vulnerability clearly. Sadness was etched on his young face, and she saw a creature trapped in a gilded cage. She reached out her own hand and took his.

"I wish you could be happy as well." she sighed, all anger evaporating, her heart filled with pity. "I do not think you or your mother deserved your plights. Even your people, and your sister, you did not deserve this."

"You truly feel that way, after all that my sister has done to you?"

"Yes."

It was true. At that moment, her pity so consumed her that she even forgot her anger towards the fiery lioness.

"I- You-" Misrak seemed so surprised that he did not know what to say. Finally, he bent down and unexpectedly kissed her gently on the lips. She returned the kiss, but it was fleeting; it lasted no more than a few seconds, and it seemed more a kiss of gratitude than anything. When he withdrew, she knew her cheeks were red.

"I- I must go." He said, a grin on his face. "It is almost dawn."

Quickly he was gone, and Belle was completely alone. She forgot at that moment that she was in a prison chamber, and that she was being held against her will in the castle. She also forgot that she had almost been killed by Misrak's sister. She could only think, wildly, that it was her first kiss, and how foreign and strange it was. She had not thought that she had feelings for Misrak, but now, her heart that had been filled with pity now felt warm. She ran her fingers over her lips and sighed. Things would certainly be more complicated after this.

It was then that she heard the piercing sound of screams reverberating through the castle.

* * *

The next night, after she had slept some more, she sat on the bed in the room, utterly bored. She had decided to wait for someone to come back and help her find her way back into her room. She had no idea where in the castle the prison chamber was, and for some reason, the door would not open for her. As it was a regular door, she figured that it must be part of the magic in the castle, designed to only allow members of the court free passage through the door. She stared up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the stone with her mind.

The door opened, and she looked up, hoping and dreading that it was Misrak. She tried to restrain her disappointment when she saw that it was Samson, bedecked in purple floor length robes with silver trim. When he saw her, he smiled somewhat coldly.

"Hello, ma chere." he said.

She stared, feeling slightly nervous as she remembered the story that Misrak had told her. Samson seemed not to notice.

" I came to tell you that I have news of your family."

Belle struggled to stay calm. She prayed that it was not bad.

"Your sister, in a month's time, is to be married. I know not to who." He added, as Belle opened her mouth to ask, "Yet I know he is a prominent figure in your village, and they are to have a great feast."

"Why do you tell me this?"

"Why, Belle." he said, smiling, "I thought you would have figured it out. I am allowing you to leave. You may go home."

Belle gawked in disbelief. Finally, she stuttered,

"F-For how long?"

"Forever, my dear. I know of your distress, and I would never have kept you here had I known."

A frown permeated Belle's expression.

"But you did know." She protested, "I told you."

"Shush. Would you prefer that I make you stay in this chamber forever?"

She ceased her talking and watched him, waiting with bated breath to hear more.

"You will leave tonight."

"Will I- will I be able to tell Misrak and Amara and Bibi goodbye?" she asked hesitantly, thinking for the first time how she might regret telling them how she was leaving.

"No. I will tell them why you have gone, and they will understand."

"_I_ don't understand why-"

"You do not understand anything!" He shouted suddenly, anger contorting his features, making him look demonic. "You are a foolish young girl, idiotic enough to think that you mean something to people you hardly know!"

As quickly as his outburst had come, he resumed utter calm. A smile returned to his face, though it seemed out of place and menacing.

"I shall take you now. I have a horse for you, and your things are packed as well."

She nodded, and followed him out as he opened the door and left.

They took a way that she had never seen before, dimly lit and cold. Though they floors were still lined with marble, the walls were undecorated and the rare occurrence of sconces with torches in them became more and more noticeable as they plunged further into darkness. For a few moments, she worried where the moody man was really taking her, but then they reached a more warmly lit hallway and they could hear the voices of people in the Great Hall. Belle noticed that he was careful not to lead her right past the hall.

They eventually reached the golden grilles, and Belle knew then that she was truly leaving. She nodded goodbye to Samson and obligingly kissed his cheeks, then fled. She saw that the horse was a wild black one, well groomed and built for sped. She clambered upon it, and they were soon on her way through the forest.

But instead of being glad of leaving, she was remembering the kiss….

* * *

"She WHAT!"

"Indeed, dear boy. She has slipped through our fingers and left."

Samson stood before Misrak in the throne room, calmly telling him how Belle had run away. Alitash lurked in the back, watching her brother and father with calculating eyes.

"But I thought that she- She seemed-"

"Happy? Do not be naïve my son, she was miserable here."

Alitash came forward slowly, shrugging her green clad shoulders.

"It is because of me, most likely." she said quietly. She was sure to be demure, but her eyes glowed brightly.

"No." Misrak said, turning to face her, "I talked to her last night, and she said-"

"She fed you lies, Misrak." Alitash replied, "It is what all pale people do. Do not mourn her loss."

"I thought that you felt remorse." Misrak hissed.

Alitash shrugged again.

"It was she who decided to leave, was it not?" She asked simply. Misrak gave her a look of disgust and turned back to his father.

"I do not believe you." Misrak snarled at his him, edging closer to the door. "I do not believe that she left of her own accord." He turned and practically ran from the room.

"It is cruel how you toy with us, Father." Alitash said after he had left the throne room.

"I hardly know what you are talking about." Samson said, smiling. "I told the truth. I have no idea how she got out of the prison chamber."

"Believe what you will Father, but I know that you know as well as I that there was something happening between Misrak and that girl."

"Why you attacked her I suppose?"

"Indeed. Not intending to kill her."

"Believe what _you_ will, Alitash."

"I shall. And meanwhile, I ask only why you lie to him. He is, after all, your son."

"Hardly." Samson said coldly, "I shudder when I think that you pathetic souls are of my flesh."

Alitash left the room then, her face emotionless.

* * *

As usual, I love reviews and feedback (which should never be mutually exclusive) and thank everybody who has left such lovely ones, as well as thanking those in advance that are planning on doing so (reviewing, that is). Here are my replies to those wonderful reviews!

Sheyana- Thank you! I don't think I left it on such a cliffie today. Did you really think Collete was OOC? I know she was a bit different than we've seen her before, but that is the beauty of personality facets. Some of the most conceited people can actually do some selfless things (or I'd like to think so). As for Alitash: I hope this chapter shed a little light on it. Alitash was acting out a bit, but it was her being protective (just wait till she found out Belle and Misrak kissed!) and Samson honestly doesn't care what happens to Belle. He's just loopy. More on him later.

MoonPixie86- Thank you! I'm glad that I could clear that up a bit :)

v-Thank you! I sort of agree with you.But Colette is human, and she does have redeeming traits.

Philippa- You have no idea how flattered I felt after I read your review. I officially love you!


	11. Chapter 10: Perdu

Chapter 10: Perdu

Belle dismounted, rubbing her sore backside and yawning. She had barely stopped during the ride home, only pausing to feed the dark horse, and she was exhausted. Yet she suddenly felt more alert than she had in a while, for there before her, within her sight, was her cottage. She laughed weakly and sank to her knees. She took the grass in her hands, as though making sure it was real, then bowed her head in reverence.

The horse snorted impatiently, stomping the ground. She looked up at him and reached up a hand to rest on his glossy side.

"I am coming." she croaked. Slowly, her legs feeling like liquid, she rose and walked alongside the horse. When she came closer to the house, she could see that Maurice was tied outside, a rope crudely knotted around his neck and looped around a wooden peg in the ground. He had been laying down, whimpering. When he saw Belle, he barked loudly and stood up, wagging his tail. He strained against the rope, and Belle felt her heart melt as she saw the raw marks that the ropes had made against his sensitive neck.

"Maurice, Maurice, darling." she cried. She ran, her legs protesting, and bent next to the dog. The horse trotted along behind her and looked away, contemptuous and searching for something to eat. Belle, meanwhile, untied Maurice, then took the wriggling dog into her arms. She laughed at his licking on her arms and face and savored the warm bundle.

"It is alright now, sweetheart." she whispered. "I am here now."

She stood up, dog still in her arms, and opened the door of her home, which she knew would be unbolted. When she stepped in, she was surprised to find a flurry of activity. Several well dressed and plump women were rustling through the house, trailed by mousy looking maids. The women were dressed in ridiculous looking costumes, consisting of wide skirts and taller hair, and their faces were made up with thick, unnaturally pale powder. They were chattering loudly as they flitted about.

"Goodness, I cannot believe how little time we have-"

"Have you seen-"

"- married to Monsieur Rachet?"

Belle raised her eyebrows. She had met Rachet on occasion and heard more from Colette's rants, and therefore knew him to be pompous and self-centered. She wondered who would marry him for a moment, in awe of how someone could possibly endure it. Then she stiffened, causing Maurice to bark in her ear. What if- what if Colette was going to-

"My word, what is that dog doing in here?"

"Get it out! Get rid of the dirty rat!"

"You, girl! What are you doing here?"

The women were staring at Maurice in mingled disgust and horror, and she debated for a moment as to whether to put him on the ground to make them scream. She decided against it, as she had an idea that if she put Maurice down, they would stomp on him. Instead, she fixed them with an icy stare.

"You women are in my house, and you ask me what I am doing here?"

Belle did not wait for their reply, and barged past them to her and her sisters' bedchamber. When she entered, she found Sophie sewing a large bed sheet and Colette standing with her arms extended. She was being fitted with a voluminous, superfluously ruffled white gown by one of the tiny maids, overseen by her mistress, who resembled a vulture in her expression and underfed frame. When she saw Belle, Colette's eyes widened, though she didn't move. She instead said, in a would-be calm tone that was betrayed only by its shakiness, "Madame Rachet, Sophie. Please convince me that I am dreaming, for before me stands the apparition of my dear departed sister."

They both looked up. Sophie gasped, and her eyes filled with tears. Madame Rachet's lip curled. She looked Belle over thoroughly, then gave her assessment.

"I scarcely know your sister, Colette, but this cannot be she. The girl before us is a filthy wretch."

Belle's cheeks heated, and she frowned at Madame Rachet. Colette stepped away from the maid who had been working on her dress.

"And yet-" she whispered, "it is. Belle?"

The barely suppressed joy, which was mingled with disbelief, caused a few tears to form in Belle's eyes, though they did not fall. She sniffed and put down Maurice, who barked with joy and began chasing his tail. She reached to embrace her sister, and Colette was about to fall upon her neck when Madame Rachet let out a screech.

"Get it away! Wretched beast!" she screamed, kicking wildly at the dog, " And I do not care if you are to be my daughter in law, Colette, if you dirty that dress I shall tear you apart- many a franc was spent upon that cloth."

Colette seemed annoyed, but she pulled back, keeping her eyes trained carefully on the ground. Belle stared at her, horrified.

"So you are to be married to-"

"Monsieur Rachet. Yes." Colette said this through her teeth.

"Why?"

Colette gave Belle a look, as though saying _Not while his mother is here_, but Belle ignored it.

"You hate Rachet!

"_Please_, Belle, not now."

"No! Why are you- I don't understand-"

"Shush, silly girl." Madame Rachet said, ushering her maid to continue sewing Colette's dress. "The wedding is hardly in three days, and all you can think to do is sully this time with ridiculous accusations?" Her voice was so cold that Belle almost shrank back from it. Madame Rachet continued,

"I thought, anyway, that you had died. At least, that is what your father raves. A decent girl does not forsake her family and let them think the worst. But I suppose you did not think so far, and look; now your father finds himself in his current condition."

"What condition?" Belle asked. Madame Rachet smirked at her and turned away, while Colette continued to stare forward, her features collected and rigid. Belle turned wildly to Sophie, fear building in her heart.

"Sophie?" she whispered. Sophie shook her head and turned back to her sewing.

"Tell me, I beg of you! Where is Papa? Is he alright?"

"He has become nothing more than a drunken brute." Madame Rachet sneered, not looking at Belle. "His home is the tavern, and as he has taken ale as his meal, it is thought to be his grave as well. Not-" she paused and gave Belle a quick glance at the corner of her eye, "that I would know for sure. A lady would never set foot in such a place."

Belle felt her jaw drop and she put a hand out to lean against the nearest wall. She had never seen her father take a drink in her whole life, and to hear this…

"I see no lady." she hissed finally, "I see a cruel, horrible woman, with an equally horrible son who I shudder to believe will be married to my fair sister."

"She is not so fair." Madame Rachet said, matter-of-factly. Colette barely even flinched at this.

"Get out of here." she said.

"Colette!" Sophie gasped. Colette silenced her with a look. At first, Belle thought she spoke to Madame Rachet, then realized, horrified, that Colette was addressing her.

"I will not abide with someone speaking so of- " she stopped and drew a deep breath, then continued, "of my future husband and mother."

Belle shook her head.

"No." she said, dazed, " I would not dare. I hope that you have a pleasant wedding." She turned away bitterly, scooped up Maurice, and walked past all of the ladies out of the house. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling around, she saw Sophie stood there, biting her lip.

"Sophie…" Belle said, hugging her sister with her free arm, "I do not understand."

"She does it for us, Belle. Madame Rachet was right, Papa will probably die soon. We need to be taken care of."

"Not by Rachet! I would think that Colette would rather die!"

"She cares about our family."

"Our family will only be worse for this."

"We did not have much of a choice. We thought you were dead."

Belle began to lead the dark horse, who had been sniffing the grass with disdain, and gave her sister a hard look.

"I do not understand the relevance of this."

"We believed we would be in mourning for two. Rachet has money, and if he and Colette are married, he will not bother us. You know he would otherwise."

Belle placed Maurice in Sophie's arm and swung herself up on the horse.

"What do you plan to do when they are married, Sophie?" she asked once she was mounted, reaching for Maurice once more, "Do you intend to marry one of his kin? Or simply be governess to their children?"

Sophie put Maurice in Belle's arms and then wrapped her arms around herself.

"I do not know. What are you planning on doing? Are you staying?"

"I do not know, now. I thought I would, but to live in the home of Rachet…"

"Do not leave us. Please."

Belle turned away and kept a firmer grip on Maurice, who was squirming.

"You can give him to me, Belle." Sophie said quietly.

Belle laughed humorlessly.

"And allow him to be penned and abused by those powdery faced beasts? No."

"Where are you going?"

"Away." Belle said vaguely, "To- to find Papa."

"Fine." Sophie lowered her gaze and trudged towards the door. Then she turned around and lifted her gorgeous green eyes.

"Belle?"

Belle, who's horse had been trotting away, turned back to peer at her.

"We missed you. And we love you."

Belle smiled, albeit shakily.

"I love you too." she said, that odd hoarseness rising in her throat again, "Tell Colette too. I may not see her agai-"

"Don't say it." Sophie interrupted, "You do not know."

Belle said nothing then, only rode away.

When she reached the tavern, she hesitated. In this village's tavern, decent women were not allowed in- or at least, it was an unsaid rule. There were many people who passed by and spent a few days in- people who Belle did not necessarily want to come in contact with. Her only comfort came in knowing that, no matter how intoxicated, her father would be there. It had not sunk in that he could have changed.

She stuck her tiny dog into the pack hanging off the side of the horse as she slid off. She picked Maurice up again, then went to the crudely hewn door. With a deep breath and a burst of determination, she knocked upon the door. After a moment of doing so continuously, the door opened a crack, and a man stuck his head out. He had greasy gray hair, several missing teeth, and reeked heavily of alcohol. She took an involuntary step back when he leered at her.

"Well, now." he slurred, placing a grubby hand out to take one of hers and, presumably, kiss it. "How now, lady? It is very nice to meet…to meet…" His head bobbed in and out, as though he was swaying.

"Is Jean Moreau in there?" Belle asked, making sure to keep her voice as devoid of familiarity as possible. Everything Aurelie had ever warned her about men was now shouting out in her head.

"Well, 'e might be." the man said, as though seriously thinking about it, "'oo should I say is calling?"

"His daughter, Belle." Belle said.

"Well- that would be you, would it?" he asked drowsily, "A little on the fat side, but still nice, all the same…"

"Excuse me?"

"I'll get 'im. Farewell, m'lady." He disappeared, shutting the door behind him without allowing Belle so much as a peek inside. She was waiting there for so long that she began to suspect that the man had been lying to her, when the door slowly creaked open. A disheveled head inched its way through the opening, until Belle found herself face to face with her unshaven father. Maurice began barking again, and she did nothing to stop him.

"Papa?" she asked, not wanting to believe it was him. Never before had she seen her father looking so horrible.

"Belle?" he asked thickly. She gave him a watery smile and touched his face in disbelief.

"Papa…"

Jean closed the space between them and pulled Belle roughly into his arms. She pulled back, put Maurice down, then, hesitantly, returned her father's embrace.

"What has happened to you, father?" she whispered. Alcohol overcame any familiar scent he might have had, and it scared her. His grip on her grew tighter, and she felt him sobbing into her hair.

"I thought you dead." he said in her ear, "I thought you- and you are my light, you are like Violette, I thought I was alone…"

"Shush." Belle said, patting him, "It is fine. Papa, I need to tell you-"

"I thought you were dead." Jean repeated, pulling away and petting her clumsily, "What would I do, what would I do without you?"

"What have you done without me?" she asked, stepping away from his slackened grip, "Papa, you cannot-"

"I thought you were dead." Jean said a third time. Her fright grew every moment she stood near him. Going into a tavern now seemed nothing, for she had thought at the end she would find her wonderful father. Here before her stood a stranger, talking in an almost maniacal way, and it was all she could do not to be repulsed.

"Papa, you are coming home." Belle said firmly, "We are going home, and Colette will not be married, and we shall be as we were."

"No, no, no." Jean said, "I- I have to go back in you see." It looked like it was taking him extreme effort to string the words together, "I need another drink. Yes, another drink."

"Papa, you cannot-"

"I thought you were dead." he said a final time. He said it gently, bringing his mouth close to her ear as though whispering her an important secret. He stumbled backward and fell upon the door. With perspiration on his forehead as though he'd just been through an extremely harrowing event, he groped for the handle, and, finding it, quickly let himself back in. The door shut in her face, and Belle found herself staring at it in disbelief. She finally wrenched her eyes away to pick up Maurice again when she found that he had disappeared. She called for him once, twice, but he was nowhere to be found.

Her world seemed to be crumbling, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and is planning on doing so! You're so awesome.

I wanted to address two things from last chapter, the first one being Belle's attachment to Misrak. You're right of course. But here's where I went off and tried to form more complex and realistic characters (hehe). She's fifteen years old, never had any relationships other than those of the familial or platonic sort, and then here's this guy who's not bad looking being a lot more forward than a lot of guys at that time in history. She's confused; she doesn't know what to think. Though she's momentarily forgotten, she _does_ still need to deal with the fact that Misrak completely failed to protect her from his sister. Don't worry, it won't be like they proclaim their undying love for each other in the next chapter (if you were hoping for this, I apologize).

The second thing is what people have predicted for the outcome of the story. I feel like I'm being given too much credit for trying to interweave two fairy tales. This whole story (though I came up with names and the more specific plot points) is actually based off a particularly interesting version of the Brothers Grimm's story. I think it might be an older version, and certainly less well known, therefore I'm not sure how many other people have actually read it. Let me just say that this version veers more and more away from the well known version as the story progresses, so don't make assumptions!


	12. Chapter 11: Garcon

Chapter 11: Garçon

Misrak paced back and forth in the throne room, running a hand through his short hair. Bibi's entrance, loud and graceless as it was, was not enough to awaken him from his sleepless reverie.

"Misrak." the young girl said softly. She carried on a plate some bread and meat taken from supper in the Great Hall.

"It is all my doing. It is all my fault."

"Are you- are you still speaking of Belle?"

A month had passed since Belle had left the castle. In that time, Misrak had become more and more reclusive, causing Alitash, in turn, to become more volatile. The behavior of the two royals had become apparent to the rest of the court, and a shadow seemed to hang constantly above them all.

"I cannot forgive myself, Bibi."

Bibi put the plate on the floor and perched herself on a cushion.

"My lord, I must say I- I do not understand why you are so miserable. It was not as though…" she trailed off, hesitant to repeat what had become the suspicion of many in the castle.

"I am in love with her?" Misrak finished, smiling wryly. He had lost weight- the skin on his face stretched too tightly across his cheekbones when he smiled.

"No." he continued, sitting down on the cushion next to her, "I have no feelings of that sort for her."

If Bibi had been older and a bit more perceptive she would have seen the way he avoided her eyes slightly.

"Then what is it?"

"It is a sense of responsibility that makes me feel as I do. I was the one who was supposed to take care of her and I failed."

"Ah. I understand." Bibi said, not truly understanding at all. "Would you like me to stay Misrak?"

"No." he said, giving her another tight smile, "Go be with your mother and brothers."

She nodded and scampered off. Misrak stared at the food she had left for a moment, then looked away in distaste. What he had not said was that he was convinced that the reason Belle had left was the kiss he had given her. It was the last time he had seen her, and, he feared, the last time he ever would.

She managed, in her absence, to haunt his dreams; a sad, pale figure, more ghost than girl, she always appeared to him lost.

"I do not know why I kissed her." he said aloud. The whole thing had been an impulsive action, not thought through and with no ulterior motive when it took place. Now, however, he did not know.

What he did know was that his brooding would do him no good. Still, he could not face his father; smirking and knowing, he was acting irritatingly superior. He wiped his brow that glistened with unexplainable sweat.

"If she were back," he said aloud, "then I would-" He paused; he had no idea what he would do.

"I would…protect her." he said, "I would…apologize for the kiss and then…forget about it completely." He had no problem convincing himself that this would be simple. Taking into account the kisses he often gave to people of his court, he doubted it would stand out much in his memory.

"And what of Alitash?"

This voice came from behind him. He whirled around to find himself looking at a wiry boy with his knees drawn up to his chest and dirt smudging his face, making him appear almost completely black. He recognized it to be a servant named Wagaye who he very rarely saw.

"What would you know of it?" he asked defensively.

The boy laughed.

"How could I not? Your temperament and the whole situation with the pale girl has not gone unnoticed. We are silent, but not blind."

Misrak felt his face go hot.

"Perhaps they _should_ be." he growled through his teeth.

"You sound like Alitash now."

"It is no concern of yours _who_ I sound like."

"You really should eat, you know. There are many servants who would give their lives for a plate so large."

"Then take it." Misrak said helplessly, "It does not matter to me."

"But I care about your welfare, Your Highness. That, and I have come to tell you of something which not a soul in the royal family has been informed of."

"What are you talking about?"

"A prophecy, my prince."

Misrak straightened.

"A prophecy?" he asked sharply, "What do you mean? About what?"

"About you, Your Highness."

Misrak felt his hands tingle with nervousness as he stared at the boy.

"Who made the prophecy?"

"Your mother, Your Highness. Just before she died."

He could not speak.

"It has not been revealed to you because the others have feared that by knowing it, you will get in the way of your own destiny. But this is unwise, especially now. What is foretold is foretold, and if people could change it, then the gift of prophecy would not have been given."

"What- what does it say?"

"It says that it will be up to you to rid us of our curse."

"Me?" Misrak asked incredulously, "But-"

"Not only you, however. The prophecy says that true love in the face of adversity will break the spell that your mother laid upon our people."

"And she said that it was I who…"

"Yes. It is to be _your_ love."

"That's ridiculous." Misrak said, laughing a little as he spoke, "Surely, you jest. I love no one."

"Not yet. That is why you must bring the girl back."

"No." he said sharply, "I will not bring her here against her will." he examined Wagaye closer, "I will certainly not force something like this on either of us. I believe you were mistaken in giving me this information, and in fact wonder what authority gave you the audacity to do so."

"My own authority." Wagaye said, suddenly sounding cold. "It is not your place to argue with a prophecy."

"It is not your place to speak as you do. Now get out."

The boy stood up and raised his chin.

"Either you shall be together, or all of us are doomed to this curse forever as your heart rots away as your sister's has."

"Get out." Misrak repeated bitterly.

"Remember what I said about prophecies, and how knowing of them does not make them less likely to come true." He grinned and slipped through the door, and Misrak was left to stare after him helplessly for what felt like a lifetime. Eventually, he picked up the plate that Bibi had brought to him and ate what was on it, the food tasting like sawdust.

* * *

Wagaye, after leaving the throne room, crept skillfully up several flights of stairs to reach a heavy wooden door. He tested the handle, and when he saw it was locked, he waved a hand before it. Instantly, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. Stealing inside, Wagaye scanned the room. It was messy, with overturned chairs and loose sheets of parchment littering the floor. He snaked around them and continued to search the floor with his eyes until he alighted upon a particularly large pile of parchment. He then began to dig in an almost doglike fashion. After a moment, he withdrew a small oval looking glass. 

"Where is she?" he whispered, grasping it tightly.

At once, the mirror clouded over. For a moment, it seemed only foggy, and Wagaye squinted into its depths. Then it cleared, showing him an image, and he smiled. He placed the mirror on the floor and buried it under the pieces of parchment so that it looked as it had before. He crept back out of the room and locked the door with another wave of a hand, and, glancing around once more, he disappeared down the dimly lit hallway.

* * *

"A prophecy?" 

Amara's eyebrows were raised and she paused on the way to the transformation chamber.

"Yes." Misrak watched her reaction suspiciously, hoping to detect some recognition, "I have heard that my mother made a prophecy."

"Your mother made several prophecies, Misrak." Amara said, turning away from him, "They are not to be taken seriously."

"In our own history, we have had witchcraft and prophecies. Are you so quick to dismiss our history?"

Amara turned back to him, looking surprised at the sudden loss of his temper.

"I do not dismiss our history." she said carefully, "I listen when my king tells me what is forbidden to believe."

"So you _would_ believe in a prophecy, were it not for my father?"

Amara twitched, and at the same time Misrak shuddered. Any moment the transformations would begin.

"Do not question things that are not, Misrak." Amara said, walking away quickly. Misrak would have run after her, but at the pain running up and down him, he dashed as best as he could to his own chamber.

* * *

"Belle." 

The voice sounded so unfamiliar that Belle told herself that it was only in her mind. After wandering in the forest for so long, living off what little she could find, such things were beginning to happen with alarming frequency.

When Belle had first reached the Chateau, it had taken only a day due to clear directions and, as she was starting to suspect, a bit of magic. When she had gone back to her home, it had taken half a week. After she had stayed there a night in a church and returned Maurice home, knowing he would probably safer than wherever she would be going, she had ridden into the forest, not knowing but beginning to think that she would go back to the Chateau. However, she had ridden for a week with a dwindling supply of bread and water and found nothing familiar, though she was almost sure that she had followed the path she had taken the first time. After that week, the horse had bolted with her pack in tow, leaving her completely lost in an unfamiliar area of the forest. She had wandered aimlessly for a little over two weeks and, as it had several times since the day she had first left her cottage, death was becoming extremely likely.

"It is not as though I have anywhere to go, anyway." she said aloud, and instantly regretted it. Her mouth, which had already felt parched, now felt as dry as a desert from opening and moving it. She collapsed on the ground and leaned against a tree. More and more she was wishing that she _had_ been killed by the lions.

"Belle." the voice was louder now, unmistakable.

_Either I have finally gone mad she thought or there really is someone…_

Not wanting to waste whatever moisture was left in her mouth, she pounded the tree with a stick lying nearby. It made a dull sound, but she was satisfied that it was loud enough to make her heard. She knew she was right when, a second later, a dark, lean boy about her age stood before her.

"There you are." the boy said with a smile.

"Who…" she didn't bother to finish the question, and she didn't need to.

"I am Wagaye. A servant in the chateau you left a month ago."

She quickly avoided his eyes, thoughts of the Chateau making her feel guilty.

"You look thinner."

In her head, she laughed humorlessly. That was certainly a way that she could attain her sisters' fine figures without wearing a corset, though it was not much less unpleasant…

"I've come to bring you home."

"No." she managed to croak. "Cannot."

The boy knew better than to ask. In an act of strength that seemed beyond his tiny frame, he lifted her easily and began to carry her, while moaned and tried to convey her protest without words or energy. When he stoically ignored her, she fell asleep in his arms, not knowing or caring where he was taking her.

* * *

Wagaye, instead of taking Belle either to the Chateau or back to her village, took her to a house in a small clearing not far from where she had been. After laying her on a mattress, he went to go pump water. She was clearly dehydrated and starving, and she would need to be nursed back to health before returning to the Chateau. He knew that she could not return there as a victim. If she did, Misrak would pity rather than admire her, and Alitash's resentment would continue to grow at the sight of weakness. He grinned at the thought of how well he knew them. 

As he reached the pump, his grin grew wider at the thought that Belle had not yet noticed that he was not a lion or any other creature, though the sun had burned bright above them.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are the best. Sorry this chapter took so long; hopefully, with the summer being here, the chapters will start coming out quicker. 

A few people asked me about the fairy tale that I based this story on. Just be aware that reading it will give away some major plot points, but if you guys don't mind that, I found an online version of it that I'll put in my profile.I can't put the address herebecause the formatting won't let me(urg) butI hope you guys enjoy it- it's really different than the traditional Beauty and the Beast!


	13. Chapter 12: Sorciere

Chapter 12: Sorcière

Belle was shaken awake, and when she saw Wagaye standing above her with water, she shook her throbbing head.

"Mmmmhhh" she groaned, not wanting to be disturbed. She would rather slip back into sleep, where she saw and felt nothing.

"Up now, Belle. You have to get well."

"Why?" she asked through her teeth that were too tired for her to pull apart.

"You are going to go back to the Chateau with me. You are needed there."

Belle wanted to argue, to say that they couldn't care less about her there, but she was already slipping back into unconsciousness.

"No, wake up. Belle. Belle." Wagaye tried to shake her awake again, but she couldn't pry her eyes open. Sighing as though he had hoped it wouldn't come to this, he splashed the water on her face. It was ice cold, and Belle's eyes shot open as a scream erupted from the back of her throat.

"I know you are not well," he said to Belle, who had started shaking, though from sadness or cold she couldn't say, "but you need to eat. You are closer to dying than even you think you are. I need to give you food before you cannot wake up any more."

Had Belle not been starving, she would have told Wagaye boldly that she had nothing more to live for. Now, however, at the mention of food, she held out her hands pleadingly.

"Food." she asked, a whine that she didn't even know she possessed starting in her voice, "Please."

Wagaye went to a wooden table that stood near her bed and cut a thick slice of bread from a loaf. He handed it to her, and ravenously she ate it, barely pausing to chew it. In less than a minute she had finished it and she held out her hands once more.

"More, please." she said, not managing to get more than that out. The hunger in her stomach had been awakened, and now it felt like she was starting to die all over again. He cut her another slice, and she ate it, this time savoring it a little more than she had the other, though she still ate it quickly.

"No more." Wagaye said after she finished it, "I do not want you to be sick."

"But I am so hungry." she pleaded, "Please. Please, give me more, anything."

"Not until supper." he said, looking at the sun that was no halfway between the sky and the ground through the window, "Then, there will be soup."

At the thought of soup, Belle began to salivate.

"Are you sure I cannot have-"

"You may have one cup of water, but no more." Wagaye said, going to get a cup from a small cupboard across the room, "As I said, if you have more, it will not stay in your stomach, and then you will have nothing there. Is that what you want?"

"No." Belle said, almost crying with frustration. She sat up in the bed slowly, took the cup filled with water that he gave her, and drank it very slowly, careful not to spill a drop of it.

"Good." Wagaye said, smiling once she had finished, "And now I will start on dinner."

"Wait." Belle said, frowning as she looked out at the setting sun, "You are from the Chateau, correct? And yet, the sun-"

"I expect you will want to rest some more now." Wagaye interrupted, giving her a curious look. Belle, who had been starting to feel more awake, now felt the overpowering need to sleep. Before she could even think of the cause of the sudden change, she had drifted off, still propped up by her pillow. Wagaye shook his head, still smiling, and put her pillow and her head down. Lost in his own mysterious thoughts, he went to began on the soup he had promised.

* * *

Once the sun had gone down and Samson had resumed his normal shape, he began pacing around his room, kicking the piles of papers as he walked. Something was off, he could tell. It was not any one thing that had happened, but rather, things that had _not _happened.

For the last several days, his son had been acting strange. Before, he had been brooding in his room, whereas now he was always wary, always looking for something. Several times, Samson had seen through his magic mirror that Misrak was searching through their enormous library, a room that very few people chose to occupy, especially him. The last person who had used the library so much was Misrak's mother, and that was long ago, long before Misrak was born, or Alitash for that matter. It had been when they were just married and he had secretly followed her to her home…

He shuddered at the memory. It was then that he had realized the repulsiveness of his dark skin, when he had come to know how hated the dark people were across the rest of the world. He remembered how Marie had not even been able to tell her parents that she was married, so revolting the idea of marrying a dark man was, instead having to excuse his unexpected presence as that of a slave…He looked down at his dark, thin arm and cursed it. He wished he could scrub it off, destroy it. It was as though it was suffocating him.

And his son and daughter…he loathed them. He had never felt so sickened by anything as the joy the took in their shameful history, that of dark and magical ancestors. If there was anything Samson hated more than his skin color it was magic, that horrible and great mystery that controlled him and consumed him to the point of madness.

As he kicked the papers, his foot hit on the magic mirror, and he picked it up. It had belonged to Marie before she had died, and he still used it, in spite of his fear of magic, to keep track of others.

"Show me Misrak." he commanded. The mirror clouded over, and minute later revealed Misrak, hunched in concentration over some books and occasionally lifting a candle that he had over the text, as though the writing was small and hard to read.

"What is he doing?" Samson hissed, knowing the mirror could not answer him, "Why is he not wasting away as he was before? What has changed?" He racked his brain, but there had been no changes in the castle. If anything, things had settled back into the tired monotony in the last few weeks. Finally, he could think of nothing else to say than,

"Show me Belle."

The mirror fogged up once more, and did not clear after a moment like it usually did. Samson's brow furrowed.

"Show me Belle." he repeated. The fog in the mirror increased, but an image still did not appear. Samson's face contorted in annoyance and barely suppressed rage.

"Where is Belle, you worthless instrument?" he hissed. The fog at once cleared, but instead of Belle, he saw his dead wife staring up at him accusingly, her blue eyes piercing straight into his soul. He let out a strangled a cry and dropped the mirror, causing a giant spider web of cracks to form over the surface of the mirror. He stood as though petrified, seeming to expect the mirror to bite him if he moved. After several minutes, he cautiously bent over to look in it, but Marie's face was gone. Shaking, he left the room, locking it and not looking back.

* * *

Misrak leaned back in his chair, rubbing his aching eyes. For the last several days, he had been spending his nights researching prophecies fervently, hoping to find something that would aid him. The thought of having a prophecy of his future made him feel trapped, more so knowing that the only way he could ever leave would be if he did as the prophecy said.

"But how does one fall in love?" he asked himself. "Can just knowing I am supposed to love her make me do so?" But he knew the answer to that before he had even asked it.

A rustling sound behind him caused him to sit up straight and stiffen. Turning around, he saw that it was Alitash, her arms crossed and an odd expression on her face.

"Hello, Misrak." she said awkwardly, "You have been here and your chambers often. It is odd. I- we worry."

Misrak gave her a wry smile.

"And does our father worry?"

Alitash pulled out a chair at the table next to him and sat in it.

"No." she said, "But then, he is Father. What else would you expect?"

"Have you ever considered the fact that it is solely due to Father that we may never see the light of day, can never leave this place?"

Alitash scoffed.

"Don't be dramatic, Misrak." she said, "We can leave. That was proved when we came here."

"But we are lions every night!" he said in a strangled voice, "We may never be free."

Alitash shrugged her thin shoulders.

"I would have no use for freedom." she said quietly, "What would I, a woman, a woman with no child, do with it in this land where women are nothing?"

"You do not care about the thought? The very principle of the thing?"

"It is my life. It does not bother me." Alitash leaned forward, scrutinizing his face, "It never used to bother you, either. More changes have occurred than just where you spend your nights."

"You look so displeased."

"Because it is due to Belle."

Misrak let out a long suffering sigh.

"Does it _matter_, Alitash?"

"Let her go!" Alitash cried, standing up, "Let go of whatever silly infatuation you have with her and-"

"It is more than a silly infatuation!" Misrak roared, slamming his fists on the table, "You truly do not understand the gravity of my situation!"

"What is it, then?" Alitash sneered, "Do you think you _love_ her?"

"It would be easier if I did." Misrak said defiantly, "And if I did, what would you do? Claw her eyes out so that I could be as miserable and bitter as you are?"

"Miserable and bitter?"

"Yes. You make hell of the lives of everyone you know and then expect them to thank you for it."

Alitash's eyes widened as though she'd been struck. Misrak soon began to realize the impact of what finally telling her what he thought of her would mean, but he was still glad that he'd said it. It was true, and the lack of food and sleep had made him tired of lies and deceptions.

"How can you speak to me so?" she asked furiously, "My own brother, does the loss of your nephew mean nothing?"

"The loss of my sister hurts me more."

Misrak stood up and walked away. Alitash sank back into her chair and watched him long after he left. If he had stayed, he would have seen that she cried as she silently wished away all that had happened the last few years of their lives.

* * *

It had been about a week since Belle had first come to the little cottage with Wagaye, and since then he had completely nursed her back to health. During the days, she mostly ate, slept, or read one of the few books that he had managed to get for her, and at night he told her all sorts of amusing anecdotes of things that had happened over the years in the Chateau and even before that. He always told them amusingly, but with a little sadness in his eyes, and when she asked how he knew so many things, many of them being much too long ago for him to remember, he smiled wistfully and said that he had heard them from others and that he was just a convincing liar.

In spite of how much time they spent together, she was never able to ask him about himself, such as who he was or why he never became a lion. It was not that she didn't want to; rather, the question would curiously manage to slip her mind as she was about to ask it, or she would feel suddenly drowsy and much too tired to ask questions. Belle didn't see this as a coincidence, but while she would have loved to know, she was more grateful to him for giving her the will and ability to live than curious about his past.

Right now, Belle sat huddled under the sheets, wearing nothing more than her undergarments. She had given her clothes to Wagaye for him to wash, at his insistence. Though she was perfectly capable of doing many things on her own- sometimes even better than he could- he insisted that she do absolutely nothing. When she had grumbled that she would become plump as a pastry, he had informed her that that was the point.

Wagaye returned sooner than she had expected, though he was not carrying the periwinkle gown that she had been wearing before. Rather, he was carrying a large brown paper parcel.

"I thought that you were going to wash my dress." she said calmly, "Unless that is what you are carrying, though I can barely see why you would put paper on it."

Wagaye shook his head.

"The dress you had was ruined. It would do you no good."

Belle raised her eyebrows.

"Do me no good? It served me well."

"It was ruined. I shudder to think how Misrak and Alitash would treat you if you went to them still wearing it."

"I do not, for I am not going back to the Chateau."

"Where else would you go?" Wagaye asked amusedly, putting the parcel at the foot of her bed.

"I could…I could…"

"What, live here?"

Belle blushed.

"Well, there would be no reason not to."

"You would go absolutely mad within a year."

Belle shrugged.

"And I would not in the Chateau?"

"It is much less likely."

When Belle didn't answer, Wagaye sighed and said,

"I promise, you will not be driven mad or locked up or anything of that sort. If that did happen, I would get you out, and then you would be free to do as you like."

Belle looked over him. Had she never met him before, she would have laughed and asked how _he_ would be able to get her out of anything. However, in the week that they had been in the cottage she had come to realize that there was more to him somehow than a wiry boy who worked as a servant in the Chateau. Knowing that she would end up going back (for what choice did she have?) she looked away from him and instead at the package on the bed.

"Open it." Wagaye said.

Carefully making sure the sheets were securely around her, she leaned forward and ripped the paper. When it was unwrapped, she gasped. Lying there was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen; shimmering and golden, it was like the sun itself.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was made by a sorceress." he replied. When Belle looked up at him, he smiled, and she at once knew who made it.

"It is not-Misrak's mother did not-"

"She did. It was once hers."

Eyes wide, Belle lifted the dress up. It caught the light so much that it was almost blinding, but she could barely tear her eyes away.

"You want me to wear _this_?" she confirmed, "Are you sure?"

"Marie was a skilled prophetess. She wanted you to have it."

She looked at him again, suspicion growing in her.

"I think you know more than you say."

"I do. But for now, all I can say is that this dress will aid you twice. The first of those times is now, and the second…" Wagaye grinned impishly, "Well, you shall have to wait to know that."

"Thank you." Belle breathed, "It is more beautiful than any I've ever seen."

"I will wait outside for you." Wagaye said, "And when you have changed, we will go back to the Chateau."

Belle nodded, and her heart rose in excitement, in spite of all the protests she had made about going back.

* * *

I'm so sorry this has taken so long- I know I said I'd try to update more frequently, but I've been working quite a bit on my Harry Potter fic Girl on a Yellow Bike. If you enjoy Harry Potter and are looking for something to read, I'd love it if you'd check it out and tell me what you think. As for what I said last chapter about moving my story- I think I've decided against it, and will continue to post my stories here. :D

Last, but certainly not least, thank you guys for all the lovely reviews! You're wonderful, all of you, and I love and appreciate each and every thing I hear from you guys. And I have to say,Philippa, you're much too insightful for your own good ;P I love it though, I keep hoping that one of these days I'll outsmart you and write something you didn't see coming.


	14. Chapter 13: Fils

Chapter 13: Fils

Misrak first felt Belle's presence when he heard, from the library, the sound of unusual commotion and bustling. A moment later, Amara burst in, Bibi on her heels looking so excited that she was in pain.

"She is coming." Amara said accusingly, as though by his research of prophecies he had undoubtedly summoned her.

"Who?" he asked dazedly. His thoughts were clouded over with ancient words and tiny script.

"Belle!" Bibi squeaked, "Oh, Misrak, she is not here yet, but she will be!"

"How do you know?" Misrak asked, squinting at them suspiciously. Something odd was happening in his chest, and he was not yet aware whether it was joy or dread, but he refused to figure it out until he knew whether it was all a lie.

"Wagaye came and told us, and he is always right!" Bibi cried. Amara turned to her, annoyed.

"Bibi, must I ask you to leave?"

"Oh, I am sorry, Amara!" Bibi said, "It is just, I am so excited, it is just like the prophecy said, and then they can be married and then we can…" she trailed off, her eyes growing huge. Amara's expression was livid.

"Leave. Now." she said coldly. Bibi whimpered.

"But Amara, I am sorry, so sorry, I forgot-"

"OUT!"

Bibi's eyes filled with tears of fright and shame, and she scurried out of the room. After she left, Amara would not look at Misrak.

"You knew." He said this quietly, but his anger was unmistakable.

"It is not important. What will be will be."

"It is important! It was my mother, it is my life!"

"Which your father will surely take away if you make mention of it in his chateau!" Amara said, turning to him with crazed fear in her eyes, "I love you and your sister, and you cannot know what is to be if you plan to see any of it!"

"But Wagaye said-"

"Wagaye is reckless." Amara said in a hard voice, "He is wise, but he does not know all, especially when it comes to you two."

"What does Alitash have to do with it?"

Amara opened her mouth to respond, but then stopped, her mouth forming a very thin line. She began to toy with her sleeve and avoid his gaze again.

"Amara?"

"I refuse to say."

Misrak fumed.

"I _command_ you to tell me."

Amara looked up, taken aback.

"You-"

"Yes, I have said it." Misrak said, puffing out his chest in false confidence, "I am your prince."

Misrak felt he could have wept at the sight of her face. It was stunned, hurt, and altogether confused and lost. He could tell that now she knew what he did, that everything that had happened in this short period of time had changed him. He was not sure that he liked that, but he knew it was the only way to hear the answer, and he _would _hear it.

"There is a prophecy about Alitash as well." she said throatily, staring at the wall behind his head, "And-"

"Yes?"

"Yeshi is…not dead."

Misrak felt himself physically recoil.

"What?" he hissed, "How- but she saw him-"

"He was shot, but not dead." She seemed close to tears now.

"But- how- she- he-" Misrak was babbling now. His nephew, alive? All thoughts of Belle's return were forgotten, and he fell to the floor in shock. It had taken so long for him to comprehend his death, even more so for Alitash and Nishan, and now to find that they had believed to be a lie…

"Where is he? How is he? How did he survive?"

Amara sighed.

"All that I may tell you," she said, still staring at the wall, "is that Yeshi was close to death. But something that your mother made…a necklace…was enchanted, and it saved him."

"But- but how could a necklace save him?"

"It was given to Alitash, who was instructed to give it to Yeshi. When Yeshi was shot, the enchantment was supposed to give him new life. That is _all_ I am permitted to say." Amara finally looked away from the wall and straight into his eyes.

"Am I allowed to leave now, Your Highness?" Misrak shivered; the formality and the royal title were so unfamiliar that they stung. However, he kept his emotions within and nodded.

"You may." Amara nodded back in what he could only assume was her stiff version of a bow and swept out of the room. It was only after a moment that he realized that he was still sitting on the ground, and a few more before he remembered that Belle was coming. He rose, and headed in the direction of the golden grilles that she would enter by.

"To think… Yeshi, alive!" he murmured to himself. He wondered if he should tell Alitash, but knew, from some instinct he did not know he possessed, that he should not.

* * *

Belle hesitated. 

She was walking through the darkened garden that was now lit with the same sort of mysterious candles embedded in the trees and plants that led to the garden's front gate. Wagaye had gone ahead of her, leaving her to make the final leg of the journey on her own, but she did not have the confidence that he seemed to have in her. Even with the sparkling dress that exposed her pale shoulders and her hair pinned up in a way that would have impressed even Colette (though it hurt to think of her), she felt self conscious and nervous. How had Samson explained her departure? Had he told the truth about how she had been able to leave? Or had he done something more sinister, made her seem much crueler than she was? She did not trust Samson.

The candlelight illuminated some leaves of fall that were caught up by a slight breeze and danced around in the air for a moment. She closed her eyes and imagined their beauty to be her own, and as she did so, she felt a small surge of strength. Angling her feet out slightly as she walked as though she was ice skating, she felt like she was gliding over the ground. Soon she was moving elegantly forward, humming a tune to herself who's origin she was not sure of.

When she approached the golden grilles, she worried about how she would get it open. Amara had simply licked it, but she, who was a girl and supposed to make a graceful entrance, could not do that…could she?

Her fears were quickly put to rest when she was able to see better. The golden gate had already been risen, and a small cluster of people had gathered to greet her. She did not recognize any of them, and smiled nervously at their quiet welcome. One of them, a woman who was at least thirty years her senior, timidly took her arm and lead her in the same direction that Amara had the first day she had come, toward the throne room. The others followed, gazing discreetly at her dress every so often and quickly looking away from its unbearable beauty. Belle, very uneasy with the silence, finally asked the woman who was leading her,

"What is your name?"

The woman looked up at her, frightened, then realizing she was not a threat, whispered,

"Makeda."

Belle did not question her further, realizing that these people found her very presence painful, though she was completely unaware that they were intimidated by her radiance. These people, though they were in the same tribe, were completely different than the others that she had met before. They lacked the sense of pride and regality that was evident in Misrak's, Alitash's, and Amara's mannerisms, even when they themselves were not aware that they were exuding such a sense.

Before they could reach the throne room, Misrak appeared before them from around the corner, looking shaken. When he caught sight of Belle, he seemed to go pale.

"Belle." he said, stunned. When he did not take his eyes away from her, she looked down, her cheeks flushing in spite of how she wished that they wouldn't.

"Makeda, I will take her from here." he informed the woman. She gave a bow in reply and scuttled off, the rest of them echoing her movements. In less than a moment, Belle found herself alone with Misrak. He looked at her, and she looked at the bottom of the long robes that covered his feet. She wondered if he wore shoes or if he went barefoot.

"Why did you leave?"

The tenderness in the simple question caused her to look up sharply, scrutinizing every detail of his face for what he could mean by it. His features, however, were unreadable.

"I-" There were thousands of ways she could say why she had left, thousands more to ask if he had wished she hadn't. She swallowed them all, and said simply,

"I was allowed to."

"How?"

"Your father. He- he came and- did he not tell you?"

Misrak frowned.

"He told us things. He said that you had escaped. Run away."

Belle shook her head vigorously, causing some strands of hair to fall from their coiffure.

"He let me go." she said, "He told me that I was free to go, to see my sister be married and to live once more with my father. If only…" her eyes misted over, and she felt empty.

"I knew he was lying." Misrak said grimly. He stared at the ground, causing their roles to be reversed as she continued to study him. After a while, Belle said, hesitantly,

"You have not asked me why I came back."

Misrak looked up, and Belle felt silly for having said it.

"No." he admitted, taking a step closer, "But I am glad that you have returned."

He pushed some of the strands of hair that had fallen behind her ear, and their eyes met, both of them surprised with the boldness and intimacy of this action.

"I _do_ intend to stay." Belle affirmed, answering an unasked question. A smile played on his lips, but he didn't say a word. She took in all of his features, amazed at the simplicity of doing so. With other people, even members of her family, to do something so probing would have been uncomfortable, but with Misrak she did it with the ease that she had in examining her own features in a looking glass. As she did so, she came to the calm realization that she no longer felt empty.

In reply, he caught her hand with his own and let a full smile blossom across his face.

"Let me take you to your room. There is no reason to go to the throne room tonight." he said, and she nodded. Wordlessly, he brought her to the blue room, and as they parted, Belle was aware that a change had taken place, and whether it was due to her appearance or something that had happened in her absence, she was not sure. In spite of all the reservations she had, it made her smile as she danced through her room and prepared herself for bed.

* * *

Wagaye beamed as he watched Misrak and Belle part in the cracked mirror. They were slowly gravitating towards each other, and though he knew they would both question the validity of their growing attraction- Belle thinking it to be the dress's doing, Misrak thinking he was influenced by the prophecy and the joy of knowing his nephew was alive- a foundation had been laid, and it would only be a matter of time before they realized that they were meant for each other. 

He languidly put the mirror back where he had found it, stood up, and stretched, youthful energy surging through his veins. It was times like these that he realized that he was only a teenaged boy, even if he didn't think like one.

Unexpectedly, a key began to turn in the door's lock, and like a flash, Wagaye was pressed against the wall that the door would open upon. As Samson stormed into the room, Wagaye slipped out behind him, wiping a small amount of sweat from his brow. That had been close, but for the few seconds in which it took place, it had been undoubtedly exhilarating.

He carefully tucked the necklace that had swung forward back under his robes and darted into the shadows.

* * *

Haha! Another chapter, and more of the truth coming forth! I hope I made it obvious enough ;D 

As for my wonderful, fabulous, darling reviewers: how do I love thee? Let me count the ways (55 reviews! Amazing.). Or, rather, answer any questions:

Phillippa of the Phoenix- No, I haven't read that story, but after you mentioned it, I looked it up- it looks quite good! Another thing to add to my list of books to check out. As for the mirror, it's all Wagaye- I don't want to explain everything now, more on that later! And Alitash has a bit more transforming to do before she and Belle completely get along, but she's definitely realized what a witch she's being.

v- Never fear! I have this story planned out, and I don't plan on abandoning it :)

ash vault rose garden- Thank you for all your reviews, dear!

Philippa- And the new developments just keep coming! I hope you like them :D I haven't read those books, I must check them out...And you aren't being nagging at all, it's nice to hear that people are excited to see the next chapter; it's very motivating. I can also see why you would like this story better than the Harry Potter one; I like to think that they're rather different, both in plot and characters, which causes even me to sometimes favor one over the other (though it switches; I always like the one who's chapter I'm currently writing more!)

zagato- Something about that review made me smile like mad. The word beautiful when it comes to a story is, in my humble opinion, one of the highest praises you can give.Thank you, I'm so glad you like it.

And to everyone else, thank you so much! Hopefully all these exclamation marks and thank you's can give you an inkling of how much I adore every one of you.


	15. Chapter 14: Mort

Chapter 14: Mort

The next day, Belle left her room alone, determined to explore the chateau. It was something that, having endeavored only to escape before, she had never thought about, but now filled her with eager anticipation. With all the mysteries surrounding the castle, she knew that there would be fascinating things to discover, and she was keen to discover what they were. Another motivation to her actions, though she would never admit it, was to get her mind off of Misrak. The way he had treated her was the way he had seen boys in the village treat her beautiful sisters on numerous occasions, and she was very distrustful of having that sort of behavior directed at her. She had allowed herself to be carried away last night, but she knew now that she could not continue.

'After all,' she told herself firmly, 'how in the world would you be able to marry a lion?'. This caused her to blush to herself, because _marriage_ was not something she should even have crossed her mind. Quickening her step, she forced herself to become distracted by the high, vaulted ceilings and intricate marble pillars.

Her bedchamber, the blue room, was the last door down a long narrow corridor, which was quite plain and had a low ceiling. The corridor was otherwise devoid of doors, and while she had been thinking she had emerged back out into the open area. Cautiously, she began to walk through to find other doors against the same long stretch of wall, checking over her shoulder frequently and hoping that she wouldn't become hopelessly lost.

She soon came upon more long corridors, each with exactly one room at the end like hers had been. After looking around and settling her mind that there was nobody around to scold her for it, she curiously headed down each one. There was nothing revelatory about the rooms. Each had a small, colored jewel on the door as hers did, and was set up in the same fashion except in the color of the stone on the door, and there were no signs that anyone was living in them.

"So they have colored rooms." she said, "So far, I have only proven that this chateau has some frivolity."

She moved on, down the large marble hall, taking time to admire the many portraits lining the walls. Upon closer observation, she realized that the people in them had an almost archaic look about them, and she knew from the little that she had gathered of history that, by their way of dress, they had lived too long ago for the style of painting used to depict them. She eventually came to the conclusion that she assigned to everything in the chateau that she did not understand- magic. It was something to discuss with Misrak the next time she saw him, at any rate. Her stomach began to flip-flop horribly at the thought of seeing Misrak again, and she could tell that he, like her family, would be a person she could not allow herself to think about if she wished to retain her sanity.

She soon came upon another door, this one curved to blend in with a round hollow of wall where the corner made of two meeting walls would ordinarily be. She tried the handle, but it wouldn't open. She frowned and tugged harder, but it would not budge, and Belle quickly abandoned it, afraid she would break it. She turned right and continued through the hall, which, though covered with numerous portraits, contained no doors. She began to take notice when the people in them began to look quite recent, and stopped altogether when she saw in the last portrait a man she recognized- Samson. She took a step closer and could see at once that, whenever this portrait was intended to portray him, he was much younger, and seemed happier, though something about his expression remained aloof. Looking at it, she could see that he looked similar to Misrak. She shook her head. Thoughts of him just kept _coming!_

Taking another turn, she finally found herself going down a hall with doors. She headed for the first one she saw, to her left. It, too, was locked. Her face fell. Was everything in this castle locked? Preparing herself for disappointment, she tried the handle on another door to the right. Almost effortlessly, she opened the door, and, congratulating herself, she slipped in.

It was larger than her bedchamber and all the other colored rooms by at least twice. She felt her eyes widen reverentially. This bedroom was the first to strike her with the full elegance of royalty. It was papered with rich gilt, and the large four poster bed had sage green hangings. There were several tapestries on the wall, all depicting such things as hunts and epic heroes, and on the ceiling was an exquisite mural depicting angels and saints. There was wooden furniture placed tastefully throughout. It was so well done, in fact, that she wondered at it. Who could have designed it? Surely, none of the lions had done it- it was clear that whoever had designed the room had had a clear idea of what the high end of French society was like.

Approaching for a closer look, she could see that the room was now being used. The bed was unmade, and several books were open and scattered on the floor near it, as though someone had been reading and had knocked them down while they were sleeping. Belle bent down and looked at one of the titles.

"The Origins of Prophecie?" she read aloud. She looked at another- "Ye Olde Prophecies?"

"Indeed." came a voice from the corner, "I find it all fascinating."

Belle jumped, though she knew exactly who it was. Misrak was curled up in the corner, his mane hanging in his eyes and looking as though she'd just awakened him from sleep. Her hands went cold and clammy at the sight of him.

"Oh, hello Misrak." she squeaked, "I was simply- I was looking around, and your door was unlocked, so I…" she trailed off; it was clear to him what she'd done. He tossed his mane and laid back down.

"Very well," he said, "you are free to continue." he put his head down and closed his eyes, and Belle clasped her cold hands uncomfortably. She couldn't just be in here now, knowing that he might be aware of her every move, with everything so unsure.

"Misrak, are you still awake?" she hoped he was, and yet dreaded it.

"Hm?"

"I do not want to say much, for that would be imprudent-"

"Ma chere, I believe you have already said enough to prove you do not care about prudence."

She looked up at him sharply, but his eyes were still closed, and he didn't seem to be reproving her.

"If that is what you expect, I suppose I should not disappoint." she said stiffly, "What, exactly, is happening between us?"

Misrak's eyes opened at once, and his large eyes focused on her face.

"What do you suppose?" he asked.

"Would you like to hear what I have deduced of it?"

"Would I have asked if I didn't?"

Belle made a noise of frustration.

"Everything is confusing as it is- must you continue to carry on in questions?"

"Are you listening to your own self?"

Belle opened her mouth then closed it, covering her eyes with her hands. The games made her feel ill- she wanted an answer, and she was afraid to ask for it.

"I shall tell you what I feel." she said in a strained voice, "It is this: there is something, though it is surely not enough to have it's own definitive state. It is not love, for it is much to soon for that-" Misrak cocked his head curiously at hearing this, "-but it is not nothing. It may be something silly, strung together of many smaller emotions that make it seem like it could be love, but really, I know I am afraid to do a thing until it is clearer, whether it is love or- or not." She turned red as she watched Misrak and wiped her hands on her dress. She had said that she'd tell him what she had deduced, but her complete honesty made her uncomfortable. She was glad to see that Misrak seemed to be thinking over his words carefully.

"I find it surprising that you tell me this now."

Belle frowned.

"Why?"

"Because I am a lion right now. Is it not odd to you that you are confessing that you may be in love with a lion?"

Belle crossed her arms.

"Are you saying that you think something completely different? If so, please, enlighten me."

"I said nothing of the sort. You know what I meant by it."

Belle thought it over, then shrugged. She had not even considered it.

"It is not so odd." she said, "because you are not _really_ a lion. I see you every night."

She was confused when he nodded oddly, as though what she had said had great importance.

"It is nothing _noble_ of me." she continued, earnestly, "It is just common sense."

He didn't seem to hear her, and she became frustrated.

"Forget all that has been said." she said, "I- goodbye." Abruptly, she left the room and put her hands to her cheeks, which were burning.

"I think I have done enough exploring for today." she said, and hurried back to her bedchamber.

* * *

Misrak shook his head in disbelief after Belle left. Though she did not know of the prophecy, she was making the whole situation still more difficult in her mind. Even so, she had said she might be in love with him in spite of his being a lion. Perhaps she was actually sorting things out more than he himself was. 

"Perhaps I should tell her." he said, rolling on his back. There were so many things to mull over as of late- the prophecies his mother had made were turning his life upside-down, and it almost made him long for the old days of hopeless resignation. _Almost._

"Misrak."

Quickly, Misrak rolled back on his stomach and saw that his father had entered, looking annoyed.

"Yes, Father?" Misrak asked through gritted teeth. The last time Misrak had spoken to him, Samson had told him that Belle had left the Chateau of his own accord. Knowing the truth, he could barely look at him.

"My son, I am sorry." Samson said, flicking his mane in a motion of majestic nonchalance, "I know that you now know the truth."

"Yes, I do. From you, though, I am barely surprised." Misrak's anger made him bold, and Samson closed his eyes, as though holding words back. When he opened them, however, they were filled with calm.

"I can hardly explain the motivation behind my actions." Samson said, his tone meant to placate but only angering Misrak further, "I do not suppose that there is any way I could request forgiveness?"

"You do not want forgiveness." Misrak spat, "You only want to control us all. I have begun to think that you delight in our misery."

"Have you?" Samson asked, the calm in his eyes wavering, "Well, that would make you similar to your sister, then."

"In spite of her shortcomings when it comes to forgiveness, my sister is most intelligent."

"Indeed."

Misrak closed his eyes and lowered his head, hoping that this would hint to Samson to leave him. Life was becoming too complex, and sleep, for a while, would alleviate some of these worries. What he did not expect, however, was Samson's surprisingly strong body pinning him to the ground. Misrak's eyes flew open, and he saw Samson's face over his own, contorted with hate.

"I have grown tired of enduring your disrespect, my son." Samson said, cool in spite of how his claws were inching towards Misrak's throat, digging painfully and purposefully into his skin as he did so, "You and Alitash are worthless, just like your mother."

"If we are worthless," Misrak choked out, "then it would be from our father that we inherited it."

Samson let out a deep, echoing roar and brought his paws firmly over Misrak's throat. That and his weight on his chest and stomach made it impossible for Misrak to breath. His last thoughts, ironically, were how similar this was to a scenario not long ago when Alitash had done nearly the same thing to Belle, and regret for his actions, or lack thereof, pounded his brain just as quickly as darkness did. With his last glimpses of consciousness, Misrak swept his paws at his father, wishing that it could make up for his past weakness.

* * *

Belle heard a loud roar as she turned a corner. It came from behind her, and she whirled around. 

"Misrak?" she murmured uncertainly, and, her forehead crinkling in concern, she hurried back to his room.

* * *

When Misrak awoke, he shook his head drowsily, trying to remember what had happened. 

"Wha-" Memories quickly returned to him and he stood up. He was still a lion, so he could not have been unconscious for long. Confusion filled him at being awake, for he was certain that his father's actions had been intended to kill him. He looked around until his eyes landed on the ground next to him, and he froze. There lay Samson in a pool of his own blood, perfectly still and undoubtedly dead.

Misrak began to breath heavily. Was it possible that his last efforts at freeing himself had been so successful? Then he looked away, and saw Belle standing in the doorway. Her expression was one of pure disbelief and terror, the same look he knew would be mirrored on his own face had he been in his human form.

Was it possible that _she _had killed him?

* * *

Finally, the next chapter is up! Sorry it took so long- writing it was_extremely_ frustrating. So Samson is dead- yet another layer of mystery! I tried to give a clear idea of the chateau, and I hope I did at least some justice to the gorgeous pictures of French chateaus that I used for inspiration. :D

Thank you for your wonderful reviews! You're all so fantastic.More specifically, thank you to: **ash vault rose garden**, **Narev** (Wow, talk about flattery! That review must have made my week, I swear. Thank you so much!), **Philippa** (You're more than welcome to call them M&B! As for saving it from being cliche, I'm glad of that. Cliche is such a frightening thing- I try to avoid it, but I'm glad I have you, my reviewers, to warn me if I'm stepping right in it ;D And as far as Wagaye goes, I can't wait until I'm able to give a deeper explanation of him!), **v**, and **Phillipa of the Phoenix** (True, but I suppose how long until that happens depends on whether or not Misrak decides to tell her. After all, he doesn't know where Yeshi is, only that he's alive).


	16. Chapter 15: Fille

Chapter 15: Fille

(Chapter 15: Girl)

"Did you--"

"No!"

"And yet, I did not--"

"Are you sure?"

Belle and Misrak were speaking, but their words seemed to offer no relief to their questions. Belle was the first to complete a thought.

"Is it possible that neither you nor I killed him?"

Misrak approached the prone form, almost afraid of it. It was his _father_ laying there, and he found that it hurt him to be so close, to feel the vessel where the life had just been. His eyes narrowed when he examined him.

"There is no mark on him."

"But look, there is blood!" Belle crossed her arms and ventured closer to where Misrak stood.

"It is as though…"

"It was unnatural. Magic."

"Then it could not have been either of us." Misrak regarded Belle warily. Her forward was crinkled, and she was leaning forward slightly.

"But how…there is no way that it could have been someone else, because I would have seen them! You would have!"

"I am not so sure of that." Misrak sighed and laid down on the floor, all energy drained from him, "He had me unconscious. Like Alitash did to you, do you remember?"

Belle ran a hand through her hair uncomfortably.

"Of course I do." she began to eye him with concern, as though wondering whether or not she should enlist the help of Amara or one of the other lions. Misrak looked away from her, also uncomfortable. Instead, he looked up to stare at the ceiling, and watched absently as a fly flew rather drowsily around the room. He did not know whether to feel upset at it for being calm at a time like this or jealous that it was. Though his appearance was blasé, his own heart was beating rapidly.

"It is retribution, I think, for not having helped you then. Did I ever apologize?"

"It does not matter." Belle said quickly, "I mean, of course it did then, but I know it, whether you said it or not." She took a step closer to him and put a hand on his head. This caused him to look up at her, and she smiled at him, and though the smile was rather crooked, Misrak thought it was lovely.

"I feel terrible." Belle began, "Because your father has died. And yet I cannot really, because he has hurt you."

"You have no reason to feel terrible." Misrak said, "It is I who should be mourning him. He is my father, my blood." Belle looked into his eyes for a long moment, then pressed her lips together thoughtfully.

"Blood…I have found that blood connections have been rather useless as of late." Belle said softly, "For you, you have a father that, it seems, you could not love and any love he had for you was so…warped that it was not real love at all." She began to pet him absently. "As for me, well…I can never go home. There is a life there, but it is one of misery. I would feel lost among my own family as they are now."

"And there is not misery here?"

"Sometimes I think Alitash wishes that there was more for me." Belle said lightly, "But there is hope here. I know it."

"I will not allow Alitash to make your life here miserable. You will come to love it. More than we do." He added the end because he knew that there were many in the castle who hated everything about it. But the words he spoke were true-- he wanted Belle to be completely happy in the Chateau.

"I think that I have already started learning to love it." Her crooked smile, which had faded from her face, blossomed into a real one. Misrak felt a curious speeding of his heart, and he could not think what about loving the Chateau could translate into such a feeling. He could hear the drowsy fly buzzing near his ear, but it zoomed out of the room once he tossed his head in annoyance. Belle took this as a sign to end the conversation.

"It would probably be best if we did something, fetched someone." she said, pointing at Samson's body. "I--oh goodness, he's dead." Her face contorted, as though she would have liked to cry, but no tears came. Misrak watched this, bewildered, and she explained quickly,

"It had not sunk in before. It is still as I said, I do not mourn him, but I cannot--it's still terrible." She withdrew her hand from his hair, and said,

"Would you like to tell Amara and Alitash, or shall I?"

"I can do it. You could go to your room, perhaps. To avoid them. It would probably make you uncomfortable…" He actually found himself pleased that he was guessing her emotions right as an expression of relief came over her.

"Thank you." she said, and she hurried off with a last look in his direction. Misrak sighed heavily and cast his father another glance.

"I should be sorry that you are dead, Father." he said softly, "But I am not. I hope only that Alitash is not as cruel a ruler as you were." he shook his head, then hurried to fetch Amara and Alitash before the evening arrived.

* * *

The next day, the whispers of what had happened to Samson had circulated the castle, throwing everything into chaos as all of the inhabitants tried, desperately, to come to terms with the death of their leader and whether or not to mourn him. In a dark room, with crimson papering and dark wood floors, a boy sat with a lion.

"So you know the truth, Yeshi?" the lion asked.

Yeshi stiffened.

"Amara, I have asked that you not call me by that name."

Amara's eyes glowed brightly.

"You would still have me use that ridiculous name? _Wagaye?_"

Yeshi, or Wagaye, stretched.

"Would you prefer me to use Marie?"

"But you are not Marie. Marie is dead."

"And so is Yeshi." Yeshi began to grin, but Amara's golden face clouded.

"Do not say that."

"I am simply saying that I am neither one or the other. Half and half, you might say."

"You look like Yeshi. I would suggest, for the sake of everyone, to adopt that name when you admit the truth. Unless you do not plan to…?"

"Indeed, I do intend to reveal myself. Very soon, in fact."

"Why? Is it…" the lioness trailed off, her giant eyes going wider and shifting her long body so that she could examine the boy more closely.

"Did you kill Samson?"

The boy laughed so long and hard that it was quite clear that Amara believed that he had. She began to pull away from him.

"I would have the inhabitants of this castle think so." Amara's outline became less tense, though not completely relaxed, as she realized that he hadn't.

"But who really did?" The boy scratched his head and examined his nails, as though bored with the conversation already.

"It will hurt you to hear, Amara, but you do not know them."

"I know everyone in this castle." Amara said, drawing herself up, "Who do you suggest that I do not know?"

"She does not live here."

"She!"

"It was a woman."

"I assumed that when you said 'she' that it was a woman." This caused the boy to smile and stand up.

"So testy, Amara. You have indeed grown bitter in your old age."

"If you are Marie, then you are not so young."

"I'm half and half, as I said."

"I still do not completely understand it." Amara said to herself. To Yeshi, she said,

"If she does not live here, how did she come to murder Samson?"

"She is a shape changer. She could have been no larger than a fly when she entered the Chateau."

Amara thought for a long time. Yeshi, finally, made a move for the door, and Amara did not try to stop him. She did, however, say as he pulled the door open,

"So you will say that it was you who did it?"

"For the time being."

"And I suppose it does not matter because…"

"…my mother is now the queen."

"Is she your mother or your daughter?"

Yeshi thought for a long while, then shook his head.

"I have resolved to call her mother, but choose not to think of it." He walked through the door.

"Yesh- Wagaye!"

He paused again.

"Will you grieve for losing him?"

"Will you?"

"I shall." Amara said this with conviction, and Yeshi turned away.

"I…I think I did that long ago."

* * *

"Misrak! Misrak!" Bibi called his name loudly and nearly tripped over herself trying to run after him. He turned to her, his face impassive. He supposed, by the sad expression on her face, that she intended to try comforting him for losing his father as countless others had.

"Yes, Bibi?"

"I'm sorry." she said, and he began to turn away, trying to think of a way to escape her. He liked Bibi, but he didn't want to hear it now.

"Well, I am very sad, but it shall be alright."

"I would be sad too, if my sister got to be queen instead of me." she shook her head mournfully, and Misrak turned back to look at her curiously.

"What?"

"Well, I understand that you must be sad that you don't get to be king." Misrak raised an eyebrow. He had not even thought about who would inherit the throne now.

"Bibi," he began gently, but she interrupted him.

"And I'm sad too," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "because I want Belle to be queen. She's nicer to me than Alitash is."

Misrak felt an odd knot in his stomach, and he frowned.

"Bibi, Belle would not be queen."

"Of course she would! You would marry her and--" she stopped, then looked up at him worriedly.

"I am sorry." she said again, "I am not to speak of it. I forgot."

Misrak felt bad for her, because it seemed clear that she knew very much but was unable to discuss it with anyone.

"It is fine." Misrak sighed, "I simply do not want Belle to hear."

"Why?" Bibi asked, cocking her head, "You both already love each other, so if you know that you shall get married, why not do it?"

"Because we do not _know_ anything." Misrak said uncomfortably.

"You love each other more than many people do when they marry." Bibi said, "My older sister is married, but she is not in love. She and her husband are still happy."

"It-- I do not think Belle would like that." Something in him knew that, and also knew that he felt the same way. Otherwise, he would have been married by the time Belle had came. The thought of being married to someone else made his insides squirm. Whatever this was with Belle, he was glad that he was able to pursue it in peace.

"Well, you had better hurry, then." Bibi said, sighing, "What will you do if someone else makes her fall in love with them?"

"That will not happen."

"I think it will. I have already heard my brothers call her the 'pretty ghost girl.' She is pretty, isn't she?"

"Yes." Misrak said, and his stomach knotted even more, "She is." The thought that other men might consider pursuing Belle was unthinkable. They did not know her, they had not been through with her what he had…

He rubbed a hand through Bibi's hair, then said,

"I have to go now. Thank you." he began to walk away, then turned back towards her.

"Alitash will be a good queen." he said firmly. Bibi nodded.

"That's what mother said, too." she said. From her tone, Misrak could tell she was unconvinced.

* * *

Once Misrak had gone, Wagaye came out from behind one of the giant pillars.

"Well done, Bibi." he said with a smile. She smiled back at him, and Wagaye was reminded, once again, why he liked the girl so much.

* * *

Sorry that it took so long! I've been very busy. So anyway, here is chapter 15, and because **Phillipa of the Phoenix** pointed out that the french chapter titles can makethings confusing, I added an english translation underneath (oh gosh, I dread doing this for every chapter because then I'll have to reveal how uncreative I am with chapter titles. Oh well.) And I KNOW there will be at least one person confused by the whole Marie-Yeshi-both dead, but he's still walking around-wtf thing, but please _do not worry_. As I've said to pretty much everything, things will happen later.I have an explanation to everything.

Thank you very much to **mistyqueen**, **Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa** (lol), **ash vault rose garden**, **v** (It pretty much was to get into Misrak's room and bug him, yeah. He wasn't planning on trying to kill him, it just sort of...happened. Well, okay, he was sort of planning to, but he was going to go about it in a much more twisted calculated way. One of those things that'll probably never be really revealed.), **Phillipa of the Phoenix** (lol! Thank you! I hope that by adding english underneath it'll make the story easier to navigate around...I'll probably add the englishto all of them soon), **ShadowFiction** (thank you very much!), **Philippa** (It's alright. Thank you very much for your review; details are what I have the most trouble with. That's why I used pictures to help me get a clearer idea of how I needed to describe everything! Well, you got a little information on who did it, but we won't find out more about her until later... But yeah, malicious is a good word ;D), **Narev** (OMG, you do not want my muse. My muse is a spastic little wierdo who only visits me every month or so and laughs at me while I sit crying in front of a blank screen. Okay, so it's not that bad, but you don't want her. I was laughing when I saw Samson was your favorite character- it's fun to write about someone who's so derangedly evil.But lucky you, there's still plenty of evil to be had. The one who killed Samson is pretty bad, not to mention the Rachets will make an appearance later on...But it was Samson's time, I'm afraid.), **Gred and Forge's Swamp** (First off, I love your penname. Also, I hope that you and your loved ones, as well as your home, were unhurtby Rita.), and **Dreaming One** (All of yourabsolutely FANTASTICreviews were what pushed me to finish this chapter, so thank you very much.Lol, I've never been told my writing is 'cute'. I've always worried that it sounded really immature, which may or may not mean the same thing. Colette and Pierre...well, we'll see more of them later, so that's when you'll find out more about them and how they're doing. And I'm glad you like my characterization! I hate when a story is filled with perfect people. As for Wagaye's age...would it make sense if I said that he's sort of ageless? I mean, since he's both Marie and Yeshi, he pretty much had a choice how he looked. And oh man, you thought it was done? Boy, I feel really bad for you, and I honestly mean that. This is gonna be a long one.)


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